River's Edge
by bellamysgirl
Summary: Diana Cassidy grew up in Riverdale. Her first love was Archie Andrews. But as that love soon faded, and her best friend's body was retrieved from the river, she began to see Riverdale in a completely different light. • Season 1 •
1. 1: I Could Use A Love Song

I can't remember the last time I really smiled. The last time I laughed, felt happy. I love this town—I grew up here. But what people choose not to talk about makes the dark corners seem more like dark streets, dark buildings, dark people. Everything is shadowed by a certain amount of somewhat healthy fear and awareness. Maybe even a bit unhealthy. No one would admit it, though, not publicly anyway. It couldn't help but cross my mind, rearranging comic books on the racks by the window.

The store was empty. Only myself to keep me company. It was the last shift before the first day of school after summer vacation. Sure, I was excited to have a job. Though Ben wouldn't agree this was the best of Riverdale's job market. I suppose he's just being a good legal guardian, watching out for me, like an over-protective parent would. But I didn't need protecting. Not here. Not on the South side. Here, I know what's what.

It's been two years since the car accident that killed my parents, and I still don't know the North side like I do the South. The pathetic excuse for a bell above the door rang, and I let out a sigh. "We close in five minutes," I announced, to whomever happened to be walking in. I put the small stack of comics in my hand into a random basket on the rack and started making my way to the front counter. Which, technically, was only about six feet away.

When I got there, I found a familiar head of fiery hair leaning into the glass of the counter, looking at the rare editions in the case. A smile pushed its way across my lips, rounding the far end of the counter. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," I pressed my palm into the glass, swinging a little as I followed the curve of the counter. "It couldn't be the boy I've barely seen since the start of summer break, could it?"

Archie perked up, resting his palms against the glass, smiling as I approached with a light skip. "Hey."

"Hey," I replied, showing more teeth than I cared to count.

"How was your day?" he asked, innocently. I exhaled, sliding my forearms onto the glass counter top. It wasn't normal—the way I changed around Archie Andrews. But, what can I say? I was in love. I was in love with the ginger jock I saw walking by my house every morning for school and never talked to. How did we get together? Let's just say that part is reserved for my diary. For now.

My head fell onto my right shoulder. "Honestly? Boring. I've had maybe three customers in as just as many hours," I confessed, tiredly. "Please— _please—_ tell me yours was way better."

"If pouring concrete counts," he chuckled.

I shook my head, "No, no it does not. Want to know what you're doing tonight?"

Archie slid his crossed arms onto the counter top to mirror my position, resting his chin on his wrists. "I have a feeling you're gonna tell me all about it."

"You're taking me to Pop's after shift," I lifted my head, edging forward on the counter an inch. "And then we're going to sit in Ben's convertible in the garage and watch Casablanca while eating desert and talking about how terrible the first day back in school is going to be."

"What's desert?"

"Ice cream. Ben and Jerry's, if we're getting specific."

Archie smiled softly. "Sounds like a plan. I missed you."

"I missed you, too, Arch," I returned the smile.

He lifted his head, and I nudged myself forward on the tips of my Converse. Our lips met in the middle. It never got old, kissing him. I wished it never ended. Maybe if it hadn't, I wouldn't feel how I do now? After my shift ended and I closed up MLJ Comics for the night, I sent Archie a text as I climbed onto my bike. I said I would meet him at Pop's in ten, and he replied with a 'see you there' and a heart emoji.

Me, being the hopelessly in love hopeless romantic, bit my bottom lip to hide a squeal and started pedaling. He was there when I arrived. He held the door, let me order first, noticed I was wearing a new set of odd-ball earrings. They were nails, to make it look like I hammered them through my ear lobes. Ben didn't think that was very funny. But Archie thought they were cool. I wasn't really looking. Not at him.

I wasn't seeing Archie Andrews. I was seeing the picture in my mind. The fairy tale I'd been building since the first time I saw him. With all the gentlemanly things he'd done for me that night, how could I see anything else? Then suddenly I wasn't the only one not seeing. Suddenly he wasn't looking at me at all. His eyes were adrift over my shoulder. I was mid sip when I noticed it. Having the couth of a walnut, I immediately twisted in the booth seat.

And there she was. The girl that would ruin my fairy tale. Even though I reasoned her to be just a pretty face, an after thought, she would single-handedly bring down my entire concept of reality without lifting one manicured finger. I turned back around in my seat. He was still looking at her. My eye brows lowered, drawing together in a furrow as I leaned back against the booth, taking my hand off my glass. I retracted both of them to my lap.

This was something new. I'd never seen him do such a thing. Not with me sitting right in front of him. When we were in the same room, he looked at me. Not an unidentified girl walking in wearing a cap of a coat. I cleared my throat pointedly, but it did nothing. The hot-headed, unreformed South sider in me began to see what I was seeing, and she was just as offended by this gesture as I was. I knew I would be overreacting if I raised my voice.

I would be overreacting if I did anything. That's what I told myself. Eventually, he'll ignore her, and go back to lavishing me with compliments and acting like I was his princess. Me, his girlfriend. Not a girl he'd been staring at for less than sixty seconds. So I stayed quiet, biting my tongue. My eyes shifted up upon hearing her voice, right by our table. She was asking about an order from Pop as he passed, lingering in that stance even after he passed her.

"Hi," she said, semi-aimlessly stepping closer to us. "How are the onion rings here?"

" _So_ good," Archie instantly replied.

I stayed quiet, watching him. He seemed lit up like a Christmas tree looking at her. It made me wonder if that was how he looked when he was looking at me. "Can we get some onion rings, too, please?" she turned to look at the front counter. Pop obliged and she thanked him before turning back to us, my worst nightmare unfolding before my eyes still. "My mom and I just moved here."

That was the next thing I heard. I didn't catch anything else. I was too consumed with a rising nausea in my stomach as I began to question every decision I ever made, every outfit I ever wore to impress him, every extra bit of makeup I tried on. It all seemed so pointless. So worthless. "From where?" Archie asked.

"New York," she answered. "Do you guys go to Riverdale?"

"Yeah, we're Sophomores," Archie nodded.

He was all too chipper to talk to her. To keep staring at her. It was safe to say, at this point, I'd had enough. I cleared my throat, pulled my bag strap onto my shoulder. "Hey, Arch- I'm not really feeling well, so I'm just gonna head home and get some sleep," I said, before promptly sliding from the booth. He seemed to come to, blinking a few times before his eyes looked to focus on my face. He looked confused. Genuinely confused at why I was leaving.

"A-are you sure?" he asked, stammering a bit in his confusion.

I nodded, "Yeah, it's fine. I'll text you later."

It was not, under any circumstances, fine. But I smiled anyway, and walked past that boyfriend-stealer like I owned the Shoppe, right out those pearly glass doors and into the brisk gravel parking lot. That disgusting display of insecurity seemed like the worst it could get. I was wrong. But I wouldn't find out why for at least forty-eight more hours. I still had time to be insecure. I still had time.

Where does a troubled North sider go when she's wounded, you ask? Anywhere any sane person would go. The Whyte Wyrm. I didn't go for the bikers, or the aesthetic of brooding loners. I went for the company. I didn't feel troubled walking the streets of the South side alone. They were too familiar. And the pathway to the Wyrm felt like the steps to my front door. I'd been here so often lately, my feet had no choice but to memorize it.

I pushed through the unguarded door and was immediately overcome with its many scents and sights. Alcohol, musk, new leather, and gasoline. I looked drastically out of place compared to all of the tall, well built, leather-jacket-wearing Serpents. The few around when I walked in noticed me immediately. Though my clothes were North side, my face was not. Most of the bikers, I could tell, recognized me.

"Well, well, well," a familiar male voice said from the back. I glanced around, my eyes landing on a moving biker. He was walking toward the front from around the backside of a pool table. The light briefly obscured his face but there was no trouble in identifying him by voice. It was FP. "Hey. You got a minute?" I asked, taking slow steps forward.

He stepped around the pool table, coming to a stop mid-room. "Yeah. What for?"

I didn't answer, just sped up my steps. My arms clung tight around his neck and my face buried into the leather of his shoulder. He seemed surprised by my sudden display of emotions. His feet shuffled back an inch as I latched on, but he didn't push me away. It took him a second to register the gesture, it seemed. The next words he spoke were with a changed tone. "Hey...are you okay?" the question was soft, but tight with concern.

"I don't know," I admitted, lifting my head to rest my chin on his shoulder. "I just needed to see you."

His arms felt reluctant as they encircled me carefully, almost as if not to break me. I could feel the relaxation in his muscles. He was relieved. I wasn't in any trouble, just in need of emotional support. Though that wasn't something FP Jones was known for, he seemed to be the only one that could make me feel better just by being in the same room. He was my father's closest friend. They both joined the Serpent's around the same time.

It always felt like FP was a second father. If mine couldn't pick me up from school, couldn't be there when I was being bullied, or when I was out alone and about to get lost or into trouble, FP was there. It was odd, considering he wasn't there that much for his own children. But I never understood that until I was older. When Jughead finally confessed that he wished his dad paid more attention to his own family instead of giving it all to other people's.

Though it was a hard discussion, it felt like Jughead and I had a stronger friendship coming out of it. FP exhaled, "What's going on, kid? Is it your boyfriend? Jughead? If Ben's being a drill sergeant again, I can pay him a visit and tell him to back off-"

"It's me," I shook my head, taking a step back, parting from him.

"You?" he looked slightly confused for a second, but then realization followed by understanding settled across his withered features. "Look, I know it must be hard still being there after Jason and your parents. But you're a strong kid, Diana. Don't forget who you are, alright? You're a Serpent. Anyone tells you otherwise, they come through us."

Though it wasn't much on paper, it felt good. I could smile. It was a small one, pulling at the corners of my lips. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I mean it, Diana," he stressed, more serious than before. "Don't let those prep-schoolers push you around."

I nodded a little, a bit surprised. "I won't."

"Good. Now, you got school tomorrow. You should be getting back to Ben's." Sliding my hands in my zipped jacket pockets, I nodded. I was going to open my mouth to speak but he shouted to the left to get someone's attention, waving someone down. "Hey, Sweet Pea. Walk her home, will you?"

I started shaking my head, taking a step back. "No, no- that's okay. I can walk myself."

The guy he called Sweet Pea didn't look any older than me. Maybe even a bit younger. With a youthful face, dark eyes, and black hair, he sauntered over just as I was rejecting the order. But FP looked to me, shaking his head. "Don't argue, alright? You've gotta stop coming here dressed like that—you look like a Barbie doll," he said, warning. His eyes looked to Sweet Pea. "I don't care what she says. Take her straight home. Anyone tries anything, you take care of it. Got it?"

"Got it," Sweet Pea nodded.

I sighed, but said, "Thank you," to FP, before turning and heading for the door. Sweet Pea had at least half a foot on me in height. It felt like a skyscraper was trailing behind me. I pushed through to the outside, letting the door go as soon as I was out. It was a nice gesture of FP but I wasn't too interested in the idea of walking all the way home in the company of a complete stranger. Sweet Pea seemed just as perturbed by this as I was.

He kept quiet, hands in his pockets, staying at least six inches to my right at all times. It was the most awkward experience of my entire life. I was sure of that after only five minutes. But I kept walking, loosely crossing my arms. It wasn't too far of a walk but, at this point, I was already fighting to keep my eyes open. I didn't get much sleep the night before and it'd been a long and dull day working at the comic store.

If anything, I needed to start a conversation just to stay awake. So that's what I did. But it was the most cliche way to go about it. "You don't look familiar," I said, after an exhale.

"I wasn't at the Wyrm much this summer," he answered, sounding a bit annoyed.

I couldn't really blame him though. He was forced to walk a girl home that claimed to be a Serpent but looked just like a North sider. I'd be peeved, too. "I'm guessing you're Sweet Pea because you're anything but," I continued to dig myself a hole, glancing at him with a small, patronizing smile. "It's probably meant to be sarcastic, right? Hey, at least they don't call you princess."

"Look, I'm walking you home because FP asked me to. This isn't anything else. Understand?" he said, seriously, turning as he walked to look down at me.

I shrugged with a sigh. "Whatever. _Sweet Pea_."

"Stop talking."

"Make me, lizard boy."

"Who do you think you are?" he growled, grabbing my upper arm closest to him. It stopped my stride, turning me to face him. This was anything but impressive. He didn't scare me. None of them did. But I guess he wasn't told. He lowered his voice, "You might be important to FP, but for the rest of us-"

If I was being completely honest with myself, I would admit right now that I had my hand on the clip of mace I kept inside my bag the entire walk. I pretended I only just thought of it, yanking the mace from my bag and spraying it right in his face mid-sentence. He made a kind of shout-like noise as he jolted back. His hands covered his face as he doubled over. "Did you just _mace_ me?" he practically shrieked.

"Did you just touch me without my _consent_?" I shouted in response, stepping off the edge of the sidewalk to put some distance between us. He angrily rubbed at his eyes, blinking them hard for a short moment until he could open them again. At this point, I could not tell if my blood was pumping from the adrenaline or the anger that someone had the nerve to grab me like that. "No offense, Sweet Pea, but I'm walking myself the rest of the way."

I adjusted my bag strap, pulling it further up onto my shoulder in a huff. My emotionally unstable self didn't seem to notice the sounds. But my eyes burned from the sudden bright light racing toward me as I turned around, took a step forward, walking into the road. This sounds really overused, but it truly happened in a second. I didn't know what happened. A flicker of fear as it hit me what the lights were and then suddenly it was dark.

On my side halfway across the road, groaning from the sudden pressure in my ribs, and my ears filling with the sound of a long car horn blast. It stopped after a second but my head was swirling so hard that it didn't really matter. Suddenly a sound came from behind me, followed by a disgruntled male voice. "Are you okay?" It was Sweet Pea.

Pushing myself up on my elbows felt worse, but I needed to reclaim whatever ounce of my dignity that remained. I looked to the left. He was on the ground, too, pushing himself up. And it hit me. He pushed me out of the way. I made fun of his name and maced him, and yet he felt the need to literally tackle me out of the way of a moving car. I didn't remember the younger Serpents being this dedicated. "I'm fine," I finally answered, getting up onto my tail bone.

Sweet Pea stood, dusted himself off. "Come on, we're not far from your house."

His hand came into my view as he offered it to me. A split second thought told me to decline. But even I was fed up with myself that night. So I gratefully gave him my hand and he tugged me up to my feet easily. It felt dizzying—the sudden change in elevation. Even still, I spoke, sounding mostly normal. "Thank you," I said, tilting my head back to look up at his face. Being closer made the height difference worse.

"Yeah," he nodded. I couldn't help but notice the red at the edges of his eyes. I also couldn't help but feel a bit bad for it. "We should get moving."

"Good idea."

We walked the rest of the way in silence. It was only a few short blocks and I was home. I hated calling it that. To me, it was Ben's house. It wasn't home. I could see the lit porch light just up the sidewalk, but a lack of movement in the corner of my eye caused me to stop, to turn halfway to be able to see behind me. Sweet Pea was stopped a few feet down the sidewalk. "This is far enough," he said. "I should be getting back."

"Oh, okay...thanks for walking me, I guess," it felt awkward, but I tried to at least say something. He nodded once and began to turn the other way. And my mouth began moving. "Sorry for macing you. The stinging should wear off in an hour."

He stopped moving with a sigh, turning back to me. "I guess I learned my lesson."

It sounded like his version of saying it didn't matter anymore, mostly because he deserved it. But either way, I felt good with that response. A part of me was saying that he better have learned because I wasn't about to explain it so nicely a second time. The rest of me only felt guilty. "I'm Diana, by the way," I threw the words out.

"Are you even actually a Serpent?" he questioned, eyes narrowed, tone skeptic.

My hand instinctively went to the hem of my sweater and tugged it up over the waist of my skirt. The skin exposed was illuminated in the street lights nearby. Four inches above my right hip bone was a three inch long snake tattoo identical to the one on Sweet Pea's neck. "Been branded for almost three years," I answered, dropping my sweater. "Try not to wear FP too thin."

With that, I turned on my heel, and made my way to the front steps. It was only then I felt the frantic vibration against my hip. I stopped at the base of the stairs and shoved a hand into my bag. After some digging, I found my phone. It was lit up like a Christmas tree with messages. They were all texts from Archie. But I didn't read them.

Instead, I found myself holding onto the banister with my free hand, about to take a step, looking down the street at the disappearing silhouette of a boy in leather. This was how my life began, and this was also exactly where it started to end. A part of me knew it. But it didn't sink in until the next morning.


	2. 2: New York City

The next morning came. It was a lot earlier than I would have liked. Most of the day was taken up by the assembly. To be honest, I was tuning out most of Cheryl's speech. For me there was no reason to listen. It would only break my resolve. I sat beside Jughead at the top of the bleachers. Halfway in, just after the moment of silence, he leaned toward me an inch. "What's up with you and Archie?" he asked, hushed. "Trouble in paradise?"

I gave him a plain face, raising only my left eyebrow. "The what now?"

"If you were being you today, you'd be hanging all over Archie. But instead, you're chumming it with me up in the cheap seats," he explained, with a small smiling smirk.

"Unbeknownst to my lovely boyfriend, I need some space right now," I said, sighing as I sat upright.

Jughead's eyebrows creased, "You guy's aren't breaking up, are you?"

At first, I'd shaken my head. But I had to stop myself. Were we breaking up? Over such a trivial little thing? Maybe. But at the time, the only answer I had to give to Jug was, "We'll see." And we did see. After the assembly, Archie didn't even notice that I was approaching him. He was too consumed trailing behind a fast disappearing Ms. Grundy. So today Jughead walked me to my next class, mostly because it was his next class, too.

Lunch was difficult. I sat next to Betty, on the opposite side of her from Archie. I'd arrived late so I took whatever seat was available. And Archie didn't seem to mind. That's what began troubling me. The fact that it hadn't changed. Nothing had changed. First day back in school after almost an entire summer of not seeing me, and he didn't seem to really care. It was disappointing. I stayed quiet, pushing my peas across my plate.

The sound of a new voice caused my eyes to shift up. It was her. It was the boyfriend-stealer. I refrained from cringing, or rolling my eyes, as she took the seat across from me. "Hey," she greeted, sitting down at the table, smiling at each of us in turn. Her eyes stopped on me a second, and she added, "Veronica Lodge. We met last night at Pop's?"

I perked up as much as I could, paving my brittle lips with a smile. "Yeah, I remember. Diana Cassidy. I'm Archie's girlfriend," I replied. It sounded sickeningly happy. I was over compensating for something, it was obvious. And that something? The want to know her. Maybe it was the bitterness of jealousy, or my territorial instincts, fueling it. Either way, I didn't want anything to do with this girl. "How was your first day? Good?" Archie asked her.

"Well, not to be too narcissistic, but I thought people would be more..." Veronica searched for the phrase.

"Obsessed with you?" Kevin supplied. "Any other year you would be trending number one for sure. This year, it's all about Cheryl trying to win the Best Supporting Psycho Oscar as Riverdale High's grieved red widow."

I gave Kevin a look from across the table. "Different people have different ways of processing loss. There's a special place in hell for people who judge that."

There was an eerie wisp of silence across the table. And suddenly I felt like the blackest sheep on the ranch. Yes, Cheryl Blossom is the world's biggest mean girl. But they didn't know what I knew. They hadn't seen the things I'd seen. The awkward silence was interrupted a second later from Archie excusing himself, leaving for his meeting with Ms. Grundy before Football try-outs. He grabbed his books and pushed up from the bench.

As he walked around the table behind me, he briefly touched my shoulder—just enough to get me to look up. "I'll see you after try-outs, okay?" he said, tossing the words over his shoulder as he walked away. I hadn't felt the need to reply. But I wish I had. I wish I had spoken up, made him stay, talked to him. Instead, I let him walk away and remove himself even further from my heart. A second after he'd left, Cheryl appeared beside our table.

"Veronica Lodge. I'd heard whisperings," she said, hands on her hips, lips pulled into a smile. It wasn't hard to tell what she was doing. Not for me. She was evaluating the new meat. "I'm Cheryl Blossom. May I sit? Betty, Diana—would you mind?"

Betty immediately moved over, and I only followed her lead after shooting Cheryl a questioning look. I knew she saw it. I could tell by the way her mouth curled in a fraction of a second. She ignored it though, and she sat where I once had been sitting. "So...what are you hens gossiping about?" she asked, full of intrigue. Then, looking to me, she added, "Archie's Efron-esque emergence from the chrysalis of puberty?"

"Extra curriculars. Weatherbee wants me to sign up for a few," Veronica answered.

It was a complete lie, but it saved me from an embarrassing situation. I didn't make any moves to thank Veronica. In my mind, I'd decided she owed me for what she was doing to my love life. But then Cheryl exclaimed, "Great! Cheer leading! You must. I'm Senior Captain of the River Vixens."

Kevin narrowed his eyes a bit, "Is cheer leading still a thing?"

"Is being the gay best friend still a thing?" Cheryl countered, giving him a look of annoyance.

I groaned, pushing myself up from the table to stand. "I gotta bounce. Warm-ups start in twenty and if I'm late on the first day, they'll find a new number three."

"Warm-ups?" Veronica looked confused. "What sport do you play?"

"Polo. The Equestrian kind," I answered.

I gave a small, half-thought wave to the table and started walking back to the school. After changing into my riding jeans, boots, and number three polo shirt in the locker room, I began the walk to the Polo arena and barn. The sports of Riverdale were the heart of Riverdale. Horse sports were never as popular as Football, but Arena Polo was a close rival. Our colors were the usual blue and gold. We'd been undefeated at state for four years.

As number three, I'm the leader of the team, in so many words. But it's much more pressure than you'd think. Being number three is the hardest position on a Polo team. I didn't get here over night, but a matter of seconds is all it would take for me to lose my spot. Walking into the barn lifted a heavy weight from my shoulders. It smelled like moist wood, hay, and horse sweat, but I needed a shot of it in my veins after the events of late.

Three stalls in was my Polo pony. A sixteen hand, black Thoroughbred cross named Indiana. She was saddled and tied to the hook in the hall by the time I made it to her stall. I sighed in relief, letting my shoulders drop as I hurried over to her. "Jessie, I owe you my left Kidney," I said, untying Indiana from the hook.

Jessie, our number two rider, was just leading her horse Skye from the barn. She barked a laugh, shouting over her shoulder, "What if I need the right one?"

"You'd had to have brought her to the arena to earn that one!" I shouted in response.

I got Indie free and lead her down the hall to the arena entrance. Coach Daniels was waiting at the door, making sure each member was accounted for. I was the last one to arrive. But Jessie had gone through only a minute beforehand so I wasn't entirely in the dog house. Daniels exhaled upon seeing me with Indie, then gave me a stern look. "What did I tell you about getting here earlier?" she asked, mostly rhetorical.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again. Promise," I smiled like a guilty child, leading Indiana toward the mounting block. "Maybe if there was less school time, I would have more horse time?"

"Nice try, Diana," Coach Daniels said, from the door.

I pulled Indiana to the mounting block. Her stirrups didn't need adjusting from the last time I used the saddle, because that was just yesterday, so it was easy to mount this time. I hoisted myself up onto the saddle and slid my other foot into the stirrup, then cued her forward to start the warm-up. Any horse about to do something physical needs warmed up. Going for it without the proper preparation could result in serious injury.

You learn to live and breathe horses as a means for survival in this sport, in this town. I didn't choose this sport. It was chosen for me by Ben. But I didn't complain, considering my competitive streak is a lot stronger than my rebellious one. In warm-up, we start with walking and ease the horse into longer strides and faster paces. Walking is the most boring and patience-testing section of the warm-up. But the team always seemed to find a way to pass the time.

Yesterday, Lewis and Jade started singing the chorus to Cobrastyle. Jessie was laughing so hard she nearly fell off her horse. It was safe to say that Coach Daniels had a lot to put up with when teaching us to be better Polo players. But she was like an Aunt to all of us at this point so we didn't do much complaining. Jade Turner, our number one, caught up to me in my laps across the arena, walking beside me. "Hey. I didn't see you much today," she said. "How are you doing?"

I blew a huff of air through my lips. "Honestly? Terrible," I slouched in my saddle, sighing heavily. "Have you heard about that new girl, Veronica?"

"Are you kidding? The whole town has heard of her," Jade chuckled.

"I think Archie has a thing for her," I admitted.

I kept my voice low, hushed, as not to draw the attention of the whole team. Jade's eyebrows did an odd dance on her forehead as her nose wrinkled. "What? Did something happen with them?" she questioned, barely paying attention enough to make the curve back toward the barn.

"Not really, but...I don't know. It's the way he looks at her. And ever since we met her last night, he's been weird," I answered. Dropping my reins, I reached up to adjust the chin strap of my helmet. Talking to Jade was always the highlight of the day. I could tell her anything and she would listen without judgment. "It's like I don't exist in his world as much as I used to."

"So talk to him. Ask him what's up," she said, as if it should be obvious.

And I guess it should be. It should've been the first thing I did when I got home last night. But I didn't. I said goodnight to whoever was listening and went right upstairs to my room. I was too tired for anything else. Yet somehow I managed to stay up for another hour thinking about that night. And for the first time in over a year, Archie Andrews wasn't the last one on my mind before I fell asleep.

"Then I would have to talk to him about it," I pointed out.

Jade gave me a sideways glance, chuckling, "Yeah, D, that's kind of the point."

"I don't know," I groaned, then exhaled. "He hasn't even _mentioned_ the Semi-Formal. But the thing is, I don't even think I want to go with him."

She was quiet for a long moment. For a second, I thought she hadn't heard me. But then I turned, saw her shocked expression, and knew she was just playing around. A small smile came to my lips and I chuckled. "That is not like you _at all_ ," Jade said.

"Maybe I'm blowing this out of proportion and taking it all too seriously, but...I don't think he loves me anymore."

* * *

On my back across my bed, I tried to remember what it was like to feel like I belonged somewhere. FP's words swirled around in my mind on an endless loop. I'm a Serpent. Why have I pretended to be something else for so long? Then it came to me that, right, I was forced to. I had no choice in wardrobe, after school activities, or even snack habits. I adapted to my environment, I guess.

"Oh. My. Gosh. What are you _still_ doing dressed like a stable hand?"

The sudden feminine voice caused my whole body to jolt, along with the loud thud of my bedroom door hitting the wall behind it. My body lurched up onto my elbows. It was Cheryl. She was dressed to the nine's in a red off-the-shoulder dress. I'd forgotten completely about the dance. But there was no one more focused on the dance than Cheryl Blossom. "I'm not going," I answered, simply.

Her eyes narrowed and her jaw fell, "What?! No. That is...that is _unacceptable_ , Diana. Get up."

She turned ninety degrees on her high heels and headed straight into my tiny walk-in closet. Rolling my eyes, I pushed myself to the end of the bed, swinging my feet off. Cheryl came out from the closet with a somewhat disgusted look on her face. "You didn't buy a dress?" she questioned, in shock.

I shook my head, "I told you, Cheryl. I'm not going."

"You're going, okay? Jason would want you there."

"Will you stop with that?" I shot to my feet, fueled by a sudden burst of anger mixed with annoyance. Cheryl recoiled a step. Her face was covered in shades of fear, surprise, and regret. "You have no idea what Jason would have wanted— _obviously_ —because he still hasn't called yet, and _you_ said he would."

Cheryl immediately shushed me, taking steps forward. "Keep your voice down, they'll hear you."

"I'm not going because the one person I really needed let me down, and I don't want to see him tonight."

"What? What happened?" she asked, genuinely concerned now.

I sighed heavily, crossing my arms. "I'm not going into it again- look! I don't even have a dress, okay? I can't go."

Cheryl's expression heated into one of pure determination in that moment, and she returned to my closet, walking with a purpose. But I dropped down onto the bed and put my head in my hands. Cheryl knew I was a Serpent when I started going to Riverdale High. A part of me thought it was because she liked me, but I knew better. She wanted me around because her parents would never approve, they would think of her as a rebel.

They would have punished her for it. She loved taunting them, doing the exact opposite of what they say is acceptable. Being friends with Cheryl meant being friends with Jason. Jason wanted to be friends with me for me. He didn't care what his parents said but he wasn't hanging out with me to get at them. He saw someone that needed a friend and he filled that need. After a while, it began to feel like I was the long lost Blossom triplet.

When Jason came to me in confidence in the weeks leading to his 'disappearance', I didn't think it would be for the reasons he had. I told him I would help because I thought I was doing the right thing. He just wanted to be with Polly. He just wanted to be happy. If I couldn't have my own happiness, at least I could give someone theirs, right? Wrong. Instead, I might have lead one of my best friends to his death.

Movement in the corner of my eye caused me to lift my head. It was a mistake. Cheryl stood just outside the closet, holding up a dress by the hanger, wearing a devilish smirk. I instantly sat back, shaking my head. "No, mm mm," I stood, pointing toward the closet. "Put that back right now."

"Put this on, i'll be downstairs."

Cheryl tossed the dress on the bed and left the room, closing the door behind her. My eyes drifted down to the black fabric she'd dropped on my comforter. It was something from my South side life. Something I wouldn't be caught dead wearing at a North side high school dance. A jolt in my curiosity, a shot of my rebellious streak, sent me to the closet. My hands sifted through the hanging clothes for something specific.

I hadn't seen it in years. A black leather biker jacket. It was hanging up near the back. It wasn't anything like my Serpent jacket, but this would have to stand in place of it tonight. Still a bit reluctant, I put on the dress. It was strapless, slightly too short for my comfort, with a tight bust and stomach covered in shiny black sequins. The waist puffed out and down with lots of layers of lace. Yes, this was a bad idea. But as soon as I put on the jacket, looked at myself in the standing mirror, I knew I needed to do this.

I put on my black converse and a pair of faux diamond earrings, then went downstairs. Cheryl was waiting, talking to Ben by the front door, the sound of Cash's cartoons filtering in from the living room clouding anything they were saying. As soon as I hit the bottom and began walking toward them, Cheryl noticed me. Her lips made an insanely wide smile as she looked me over. "Now that's my girl," she smiled.

Ben's eyes widened momentarily before narrowing, and he cleared his throat. "Diana, sweetheart, what are you wearing?"

"My dress for the dance," I smile, closed-mouthed.

"We need to get going or we're gonna be late," Cheryl announced.

Cheryl pulled open the front door and held it as I walked past Ben and right through it. There was a certain freedom, a liberating feeling in that act alone. But I wasn't done. Not yet. Cheryl and I arrived at the dance right on time. To say I had been nervous was a drastic understatement. A nice, upbeat song was playing. The dance floor was filling with teens. Looking around, I didn't see any of my friends. I assumed they hadn't arrived yet, and split from Cheryl to get some punch.

Punch wasn't my favorite drink, but I needed an excuse to be alone. Away from the front of the crowd, away from the door, away from everything. This was the first time in a long time I did something so rebellious and downright unbothered. But it felt right. It felt good to be an outsider. To be someone different in a sea of people that looked exactly the same. "Hey," a male voice came from my right as I poured punch into my glass. "How's it going?"

I glanced up, but I didn't need to in order to deduce that it was Reggie. "Just peachy. How's it going with you?"

"Oh, you know me. I've been ready to party since noon," he replied, smiling like an idiot.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," I nodded once, turning to face him, glass in hand. "Have you seen Archie?"

Reggie shook his head, "No, he's not here yet. I'm surprised you guys didn't come here together."

"Really? I'm not."

I smiled at his surprised and somewhat confused expression, before wandering to the row of seats to the left of the drink table. Ms. Grundy was sitting near the middle of them so I found a seat a few chairs away from her, and sat down. I took a sip of my punch and exhaled. This was a waiting game. I had one last shot to find proof that Archie still loved me or proof that he loved someone else. Deep inside, I didn't want to know.

Didn't want to know the truth, didn't want to know what I already knew. Just as I was starting to think he wasn't coming. Just as I was starting to think I could escape this, that this was all a mistake. Just then, Archie Andrews walked in through the doors with Betty on one arm and Veronica on the other. That wasn't the moment when my heart broke. And it wasn't the moment I would feel the worst tonight. I didn't know that right then, but I would soon find out.


	3. 3: It Ends Tonight

His eyes followed me as I crossed the dance floor, as I moved left and right to avoid swaying couples. It felt good. It felt good to know I finally had his undivided attention. The only problem was what I had to do to get it. It bothered me. But I kept it to myself, coming to a stop a foot or two in front of the three. "Hey, guys," I greeted, plastering on a bright smile, keeping my tone bubbly. "Glad you could finally make it."

Archie looked dazed, eyes stuck on my face. "Diana...you look-"

"Amazing, I know. You can thank Cheryl for stuffing me into this little number," I joked, causing both Betty and Veronica to chuckle a little. "Wanna dance, Arch?"

"Yeah, sure."

He easily stepped away from the others, walking with me to the dance floor. I put my arms around his neck and his hands rested at the waist of my dress. We swayed to the music and I counted the colors in his eyes. At this point, I was trying to force the fairy tale on to even myself. But I didn't know just how much yet. I didn't realize how pathetic all of this was, how pointless.

The conversation between us was small talk, easy topics. Mostly about Football practice and how Polo went. The elephant remained firmly in the room until the music stopped and Cheryl began speaking on stage. Archie and I stopped dancing to listen, but I'd never felt so deflated. Maybe then wasn't the time? Maybe I was supposed to talk to him about it later? But, if that were true, why did I feel such a strong urge to scream it from a rooftop?

Cheryl introduced Josie and The Pussycats for a song. Archie looked like he was going to ask me to dance, but I told him I was going to get more punch. At the punch table it felt like I was falling apart. I didn't know what to do or what to say. I didn't know who I was standing there in that gym, dressed like a modern rendition of a Spice Girl and forcing myself to dance with my drifting away boyfriend.

After a moment, Cheryl approached me, and asked why I wasn't out dancing with Archie. "I'm just not feeling it," I admitted, shaking my head and staring longingly into my glass of punch. "You know, I thought...I thought I could be happy here tonight, but I'm just...not. I'm sorry, Cher."

She looked sympathetic, stepping forward to put her hand on my upper arm. "It's okay, Diana. I understand. Maybe you'll have more fun at my after party?"

"I don't know. I'll try but, no promises, okay?"

"Deal," she nodded once.

She smiled briefly before walking around me and disappearing. My lungs took in a deep breath and let it out as slowly as I could manage without feeling like I was about to die. Then my heart shot into my throat when a hand brushed my arm, followed by the sudden appearance of Archie, sliding left to stand in front of me. "Hey. Is everything okay?" he asked, skeptical. "You're not acting like yourself tonight. Did I do something wrong?"

I couldn't do anything but stare at him. He truly said what I thought he said, and it was one of the biggest mistakes he would ever make. Because I opened my mouth, and I didn't stop until I was finished. "Yes, Archie, you did. At Pop's? That was the first night we got to hang out together in _weeks_ and you spent it staring at some other girl," I said, my voice raising a bit absentmindedly. I crossed my arms, watching his face drop. "Then, at school today, you weren't around. You barely looked at me when we were in the same room. Do you care about me, Archie?"

"Yes. Of course I care about you, Diana, you're my girlfriend," Archie said, like my question was absurd.

I inhaled, "Then show it. I'm an inch away from calling it quits tonight. If you can't act like you love me as easily as you breathe, then obviously this relationship isn't what it used to be."

That was it. That was the last thing I said to him before the after party. Probably because he knew not to try and comfort me when I was angry. Usually him crowding me out when I was upset made me feel worse. But I would've done anything for him to wrap his arms around me, call me baby, and tell me he'd be mine forever. I stood some feet apart from Archie as Cheryl explained that the game was going to be Seven Minutes In Heaven.

With the look of the people sitting on the couches, I didn't like my options. My chest had filled with dread long before the game actually started. And I think that was the point. Cheryl said, "Who wants to go first? I vote A, for Archie. Anyone second my vote?"

"What?" Archie's eyes went wide, and he glance at me a brief second, before continuing. "No, no-"

" _Yes_ , Andrews. _Yes_ ," Reggie pointed in Archie's general direction, too drunk to see straight at this point.

Cheryl placed her empty bottle on the coffee table between the two couches. "Alright, ladies. Let's see who's riding the ginger stallion tonight," she said, before giving a flick of her wrist, sending the bottle spinning rapidly. What I didn't understand was how Cheryl thought this would be more fun for me. Maybe it was because she knew Archie and I were on egg shells? Maybe she thought getting him with someone else would make me realize it was already over?

Or maybe that was just my subconscious? Either way, I wasn't happy, nor did I look it. The bottle spun and spun and my crossed arms grew tighter. Then, finally, it stopped. On Veronica. "Well, all signs point to the new girl," Cheryl said, leaning into the back of the couch on her palms. "May I remind you that if you refuse, the hostess gets to take your turn."

My eyes shifted to Veronica. She was looking straight at me. Her whole demeanor was reluctant, unsure. But I didn't make any effort to tell her no. If Archie was going to go through with it, then obviously he was making his choice. If he didn't stand up to Cheryl, he didn't love me as much as he claimed to. Archie didn't say no. He didn't fight back. Maybe he took my unmoving stance as an okay to go into that closet with her, but either way, he did it.

As soon as the closet clicked shut, I was leaving Cheryl's house. I couldn't stand there for seven minutes and wait. I wouldn't. I deserved better. That's what I told myself, walking fast down the sidewalk through town. It was a fast walk. But then I was jogging. And that jog turning into a run as hot tears streamed down my blush-covered cheeks. Now, it was true. He didn't love me. And I convinced myself he never had.

Because, odds were, he didn't. I was a faze, something temporary. Just something to keep him warm until something better, something pretty, came along. And when she did, he didn't hesitate to throw me away. I hadn't known where I was going. Not until I slowed to a stop on a street corner on the South side, stopping only for a truck to drive by. Then I was moving again. I was walking fast along the sidewalk, following a path only known to my feet.

I didn't remember it through the haze of my tears until I was at the mail box. The gray mail box with a painted red barn on the side, and sticker letters spelling out CASSIDY. I hadn't known it when I left Cheryl's, but I was going home. It didn't dawn on me how long I'd been running until I reaching the top step before the porch and sat down. My legs felt like wet, limp noodles. I was exhausted, but I was still crying.

This was the worst of it, I told myself. This was as bad as it got. It had to be. But it wasn't. It wasn't the worst, because it was about to get better. I wouldn't figure it out until I went back to Ben's. Right then, I was too in pain to see good in anything. "Diana?" I heard a voice, but I didn't look up. It got lost in my mind faster than it was voiced. But then it came again, louder, closer. "Diana."

It sounded familiar. Did I care? No. I only placed my flat palms against my face, leaning my elbows into my thighs as I hunched over. "Hey, D," it was a loud bellow. The male speaking probably assumed I just couldn't hear him. Finally, I lifted my head. My face was anything but interested in conversation. But at the end of the walkway, just a few feet from the base of the stairs, stood Sweet Pea. I instantly looked down, embarrassed.

I looked terrible. This ugly dress, torn shoes, and unmatching jacket were bad enough. But then you add my smudged makeup and barely-holding-on mascara. It was like something out of a horror movie, that typical white woman that makes all the mistakes. "What do you _want_?" I asked, wiping at my cheeks with the insides of my wrists.

"Why are you crying? Did something happen?" he asked, genuinely concerned in his voice.

His voice also sounded closer, but I didn't bother looking up. I could tell he was close by the sound of his shoes on the paved walkway. Then they came into my line of sight at the base of the stairs. "Why do you care, lizard boy?" I questioned, with as much venom as my bitter heart had to offer at the time. "Don't you have some old granny to mug?"

"I'm going to choose to ignore that— _once_ ," he went up on the first step, then turned and sat in the open space to my left. Once he was settled, he answered my previous question. "I care because you're a Serpent. We take care of each other. And you're obviously not okay. Why are you crying?"

I made a sound, a mixture between a loud groan and a heavy sigh, and yanked my head up to look at him. "Long story short...my boyfriend's an idiot, and now he's not my boyfriend anymore."

"Give me a name."

It didn't hit me until I waited a second, observing his behavior. It was a sudden change. He was slowly ringing his hands, his forearms on his knees. His voice was an obvious mask to cover his rising anger. And I understood. He wanted a name so he would know who to hunt down and beat within an inch of their life. "I don't want you to hurt him," I immediately shook my head.

Sweet Pea turned in his position to better see me. "Anyone that hurts _you_ , hurts the _rest_ of us," he pressed, more anger in his tone than seconds before when he spoke. "That's how it works. We don't take this lightly, Diana. Fine. _I_ won't hurt him. But when _FP_ finds out-"

"You wouldn't _dare_ ," I interjected, raising my voice a bit.

"What do you want me to do, huh? _Lie_? We don't do that here."

I took in a deep breath, let it out, readjusted my position, and tried to stay calm. "Just, please, Sweet Pea...calm down. I'm a big girl, okay? If some jock breaks my heart, I can deal with it on my own. I don't need someone fighting my battles for me," my voice was a bit angered, but it deflated to nothing as I grew closer to the finish. "Thank you for the offer, really. But not this time. Okay?"

It was softer than I would've liked. I chalked it up to the exhaustion and emotional trauma. Sweet Pea stared at me a second, unchanging. Then he puffed out an exhale as he looked away, turning to sit straight forward again. "Alright. At least let me take you home," he offered, a moment later, only turning his head to see me this time.

"You drive? Are you even legal yet?" I asked, raising an eyebrow with a bit of sarcasm.

My attempt at joking came off as sad, tired. Mostly because that's how I felt. A smirk came to his face and I found myself taking another deep breath. "Legality kind of flies out the window the second you join," he replied. "I don't drive a car. It's a motorcycle."

Once again, I wiped at my wet cheeks with my wrists, sniffling. "Sure, why not? I've got nothing left to lose at this point."

He stood from the steps, walking down the four of them before reaching the walkway. I pushed myself up off the step, pausing upon seeing his outstretched hand. Offering me help down the steps. It was unexpected. I mean, the steps were a bit unstable, and they creaked under shifting weight, but they weren't dangerous. Either way, I took the offer, sliding my hand in his. My palm was immediately met by the cool metal of the rings on his fingers.

It was a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands. I tried not to act like I noticed as I walked down the short steps. A bit reluctant, I let him go at the bottom, and he followed me on the walkway toward the road. Upon stepping outside the knee-high white fence surrounding my old front yard, I saw that his motorcycle was parked just down the road to the right, near the corner. A ghost of what could've been a smile shown on my lips then.

"I haven't been on a motorcycle in years," I said, huffing an empty sounding chuckle at my own words.

We were at the motorcycle in a matter of seconds, arriving just after I spoke. "Should be fun for you, then," he commented, before swinging his leg over the bike, sitting on the seat. He tipped his head to the left in a gesture, adding, "Hop on."

It felt like a dream. It didn't feel like reality, standing there in front of a South Side Serpent while he told me to get on his bike with him. Especially not a tall, dark, and growing on me Serpent. That dreamy feeling of it all made me unable to hide a small smile as I walked closer to the bike. I swung my leg over, settling on the back behind him, easily sliding my arms around his middle as he kicked up the stand. "Hold on tight," he said, revving up the motorcycle.

That wasn't going to be a problem. As the bike moved forward, I clutched on tighter, almost too tight. In my defense, I hadn't ridden a bike in almost two years. I've only ridden on the back of a bike with someone else driving a small handful of times in my life. Most of those were with my father. Some were with FP. I found myself relaxing on the thought of those times. When I was running late for school, and FP picked me up at the house.

When dad was going to the Wyrm while mom was at work and had no one to watch me. I lived and breathed motorcycles. The ride to my house didn't take long. It was shorter than I anticipated, shorter than I would have liked. If I was being honest with myself, I would say this was the most comfortable, most whole I've felt in a long time. But I wasn't being honest. He turned off the motorcycle just down the street from the house.

As soon as it was off, so was I. I was on the sidewalk in a heart beat, but I didn't leave, not yet. "How did you know I'd be at that house?" I asked, curiously, sidestepping to be in his line of sight, seeing as he still remained on the bike.

He shook his head, but wore a loose smirk. "I didn't."

"Uh huh..." I narrowed my eyes, looking at him skeptically. But on a sudden burst of confidence, I smoothed out my features, giving a small and closed-mouthed smile. "Want my phone number? You know...in case I need another armed escort home?"

It seemed to be more obvious that I was faking the reason than I was going for. But, either way, it worked. His smirk only grew as he dug a cell phone from his Serpent jacket pocket. As he hit whatever buttons needed to make a new contact for my number, I second guessed myself. What was I doing? Something really stupid. But I wanted to do it. So I did. Finally, just doing something because I wanted to, after two years of holding myself back.

This was something I wanted, but it was also something I _needed_. When I saw he was ready, I listed off my number, and he added it in. Once I had mine set up, he told me his number, and I added it into my contacts. I didn't list a name. If I did, and someone took my phone, they would know who I was talking to. So I only used a snake emoji in place of the contact name. "If you need _anything_ , call whenever," he offered, sliding away his phone.

It was an ordinary offer. But there was a confidence to his tone, a cocky air to his demeanor that was openly flirtatious. "Careful, lizard boy," I warned, light-heartedly. I said it taking steps backward, using the tone I'd reserved for flirting with Archie. I hadn't needed it for anyone else before then. "If you say 'anything', I might actually take you up on it."

He cracked a smile, the right side of his lips tugging up as he huffed a chuckle, a sound that warmed my skin. Before speaking again, he started up the bike. "Goodnight, Diana," he said, over the hum of the motorcycle. "Stay out of trouble, alright?"

Halfway to the steps, I gave a small wave, keeping that small smile I knew used to be worth something. "Goodnight, Sweet Pea."


	4. 4: The Scientist

I didn't know just how much my life had changed. And literally over night. Because, in the morning, I was watching my best friend being carried from Sweetwater River in a yellow body bag. A part of me knew this would happen. A part of me knew this was true. But I had held onto whatever hope I could muster that Jason was just enjoying his newfound freedom too much to call. Now Jason Blossom was dead. My best friend was dead.

There was no coming back to Riverdale, no going to visit, no seeing him genuinely smile for the first time in a long time. All of that was taken away by a single bullet to the forehead. The tears on my cheeks had long dried. I'd been standing there for I don't know how many hours. Cheryl was clutching onto my arm with her folded ones, keeping me beside her. Her tears were still wet. She was still showing her guilt.

My mind had moved on. Actually, it went backward. Last night, Sweet Pea said that Serpents take care of each other. That included family. Jason Blossom was like a brother to me. His death was not just a tragedy, an unfortunate thing, a headline in the Riverdale Register. No, it was much more. It was a declaration of war. I'd made up my mind then. I would find out whoever did this to Jason, and I would make them wish they had died instead.

It didn't matter to me who did it. They would be punished all the same. My deep breaths weren't to calm myself, it was to pacify my anger, relax my curling fists before I could make myself bleed. Something made me turn my head, and I instantly regretted it. Not too many feet away stood Archie and his dad, Fred. Archie was looking this way. There was something in his eyes. A longing, a sadness, that I felt proud of.

Archie had come to my house the night before. I met him on the porch with the intent to keep it short and simple. His explanation for his choice at Cheryl's party was honestly pathetic. But what he finished it with was worse. "You're _so_ perfect," he'd said. "I'll never be good enough for you."

I crossed my arms, a stinging lump forming in the back of my throat. "What else is a lie?"

He didn't respond. His normally happy and carefree eyes were glistening in the glow from the porch light. With the things that had taken place not thirty minutes before, giving my number to a biker, I shrugged my shoulders and took a step back toward the door. "I don't have room in my life for liars," I decided. It came out somewhat saddened, but it carried a certain finality. We were done. Yet the groomed and pampered North sider inside me said, "I'm sorry," before going inside, as though I actually cared.

Maybe I did. But not anymore. With an eyebrow curl of disgust, I looked away from Archie. Instead I looked at the yellow body bag. It was being carried past us, under the police tap, then up the short hill to the Coroner's van. It was hard to think there was an actual person in there. My friend. "We're going to the morgue to identify the body," Cheryl said, her body shaking slightly as she turned her head to see me. "You don't have to go. But could we talk later? Maybe at _your_ house?"

I nodded, "Of course, Cher. Just call me when you're ready."

She nodded in return, visibly fighting a wave of tears, and she let go of my arm. She turned and walked over to her parents a few feet away. My arms fell to my sides. Thankfully for me, I'd had time to change my clothes last night. The only things I kept on from the dance were my converse and leather jacket. In place of the dress were jeans and a black, v-neck tank top. Sliding my hands into my jacket pockets, I started walking toward Ben.

He stood at the car a couple yards from the Coroner's van, waiting for me. Though he looked solemn, I knew he didn't truly feel anything. Ben never liked the Blossoms. Mostly because of his friendship with Hal Cooper. "Ready to go?" he asked, as I approached.

"I'm gonna walk to Jade's, if that's okay?" I said, putting a hint of a question in it near the end. "I need to clear my head."

Ben nodded once, just a little. "Alright. But I want you home before dinner tonight, okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

* * *

I didn't go to Jade's, but I did walk. The fresh air, as cold as it was, did do me some good. I didn't know what I wanted, what I needed. But something was missing. It felt like I was hulled out. Just a shell left behind to deal with the pain. It was hard for me to distinguish the reason for what I did then, halfway between the River and Pop's Diner. My hand found it's way into my pocket. Reaching in, sniffing around, pulling out my phone.

My fingers worked of their own mindless fruition to press the _call_ button on my newest contact. By the time my mind caught up with my body, it was too late, and I was listening to it ring. It was the most nerve wracking thing—waiting for him to answer. If he would even do so. I bit my bottom lip upon hearing his voice come through the line. "When I said to call whenever," he said, sounding honestly half asleep. "I didn't mean five o'clock the next morning, D."

The teeth holding my lip in place bit down harder in an anxious attempt to keep myself from screaming. "I'm sorry it's so early. I just, um...to be honest, I didn't know who else to call," I was apologizing through the hollow-yet-weighted-down sound of my own voice. Apologizing through the wave of grief hitting me square in the back. It caused my chest to ache, and my eyes to begin to water. I couldn't walk any longer. I sniffled hard, standing still. "He's dead, Sweet Pea. My best friend is dead and...and it's my fault."

"Whoa, Diana, slow down. Where are you?"

There was an immediate change to his voice. He was no longer groggy, tired, worn. He was alive and energetic, and he didn't sound tired at all. I exhaled, letting my eyes fall closed. "I'm almost at Pop's," I said, swiping a tear off my cheek with the back of my wrist.

"Alright, I'll meet you there," he said, followed by a light scuffle on the other end. "I'll be there in ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you."

I ended my side of the call, put my phone back into my pocket. My legs didn't feel like they could make it, even though I could see the neon from the Diner's bright signs, so close already. But I gathered up all the strength I could muster, sniffled hard, and forced my feet to move. It was more daring, more daunting at the time than how it sounds right now. I'd cried at the River. But this felt different. It wasn't full of shock.

It was realization, it was guilt, it was heartbreak. And that was far worse. Numbly, I pushed through the door a the Diner, that stupid bell above the door a set of nails on a chalk board to my currently sensitive ears. I didn't make eye contact with Pop. Just headed for a booth near the back and dropped into a seat. If I talked to Pop, I knew I would only feel worse trying to explain how I felt. Part of me was trying to hide, scooting to the far side of the both by the wall, my back to the door.

My left temple resting against the wall, I could see out the wide window. The parking lot was obscured but I figured I would know he was here by the sound of the bell, following by an overwhelming scent of leather and gasoline. They all smelled like that. I used to smell like that. I tried to find the exact moment in my life when it all went wrong. But, if there was one, I couldn't see it. It was just one big unfortunate event after another.

It's no wonder I ended up here. I just never thought someone's death would be on my hands. Especially not Jason's. Whatever anger I'd felt before seemed like an afterthought. But it would be a brief one. There was no way I was letting it go. Not when it was my mistake that brought me here. My eyes shifted slightly to the right at the sound of the bell, then up a few feet as movement pulled my attention away from the window.

Sweet Pea dropped into the booth seat across from me. His partially disheveled hair and tired eyes weren't what caught my attention. Not at first. It was his clothes. All I'd ever see him wear is a dark t-shirt beneath his Serpent jacket. But now he wore a dark gray hoodie beneath a leather vest, most likely holding the Serpent logo, and it changed his whole appearance. I sat up a bit in the booth as he rested his forearms on the table, leaning forward.

Like what he was about to say was supposed to be a secret. "Tell me what happened," he said. There was a gentleness to his tone. A non-judgmental attitude. I definitely never did this when I was an active Serpent on the South side. But, then again, no one had called me at five o'clock in the morning saying they were the reason their best friend died. I sighed tiredly, leaning my loosely crossed arms on the table.

"I know...you're gonna think I'm crazy...or stupid...or whatever. But you know that kid that went missing, Jason Blossom?" I asked it rhetorically. The whole town had heard about Jason's disappearance. There was no need to actually ask. Sweet Pea's eyes narrowed as he listened and it was his only outward reaction. I didn't know if that meant I was supposed to continue or not, but I did. "His body was found in the River late last night. They just pulled him out this morning. And it's my fault he ended up there."

"Why's it _your_ fault?" he asked, confused, expression remaining the same.

I swallowed hard, my eyes averting down. "I told Jason I would help him get out of Riverdale. But—obviously—something went very wrong."

"Jason Blossom is your dead friend?" Sweet Pea sat up a bit, his confusion mixing with a drop of anger and a bit of annoyance. "Why are you crying over a dead North sider—especially a _Blossom_? You think if that happened to _you_ , he'd shed a tear? Newsflash, Diana. North siders only care about themselves."

My expression steeled as I sat back against the booth, bringing my crossed arms to my chest. I knew this could be an outcome of the conversation. I don't know what I'd thought would be good about this scenario. My stubbornness wouldn't let me drop it regardless. "Jason Blossom treated me like a human being when no one would even _look_ at me," I defended, trying not to raise my voice. "When I came to Riverdale High, I had no one. I was a South sider dropped into the deep end of the North side ocean. I may still be a _snake_ , but I know how to adapt for survival, _Sweet Pea_."

Sweet Pea sighed, sitting back in his seat as his eyes moved toward the window. My resolve had broken in that moment. The moment he turned away. I could feel that stinging, burning lump in my throat, threatening to push whatever water my eyes still carried right out onto my cheeks. A bit abruptly, I slid out of the booth, sighing heavily. "You know what? Forget it. This was a mistake," I said, getting to my feet.

Without waiting for a response, I started for the door. Maybe I just needed to be alone? Seeing as I couldn't rely on someone to listen. Or to care. Then I had to remind myself that Sweet Pea was just one person. I still hadn't called Jughead yet, but he was the next option. "Diana, wait." I heard the words as I was letting the door fall closed behind me, the bell's sound drowning it out in my mind. I made it three feet from the door when I heard it open behind me.

The bell chimed again, followed by the sound of the door falling closed. "Diana," Sweet Pea's voice came from behind. "Hold on."

"You don't get it!" I practically shouted, spinning on my heel. The tears didn't really matter at this point. All I cared about was seemingly combining my need to be angry and my need to be sad on someone that didn't really deserve it. "My parents died in a car accident when I was fourteen, my sister was only _eight_. If i'd fought the adoption, made things worse—we would've gotten split up and I would _never_ see her again. I want to be on the South side more than anything in the world. But if I do, I lose _her_. Do you get it now, tough guy?"

He looked like a deflated airbag. Shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, his lips curving down in a small frown. "I'm sorry. I didn't know Bulldog had another daughter."

"What did you just say?"

Everything in me—the rage, the guilt, the grief—suddenly flooded out through my feet into the gravel. Bulldog was my father. At least, what he went by since joining the Serpents. I knew it was a possibility, but I didn't think Sweet Pea had known my father—or known of him. But I guess being FP's right hand, even for a short time, comes with a certain notoriety, even after death. Sweet Pea's eyes shifted up to my face. "I knew Bulldog had _one_ daughter, I didn't know he had another," he reiterated. "How could I? FP only ever talks about _you_."

The mixed emotions I was getting from this day were giving me whiplash. I couldn't tell if I was supposed to be angry, sad, happy, or everything all at once. My body was aching with confusion at this point. Sweet Pea exhaled a deep breath and took a few steps forward, just enough to come within a foot of me. "Why don't I take you home? The ride might do you some good."

"Yeah..." I shrugged, sighing a little.

* * *

I couldn't say for sure if the motorcycle ride actually helped me feel better. But either way, I didn't want it to end. Even early on I could tell that feeling was a recurring theme. There was something about being on the back of his bike, holding onto him, feeling the wind on my face. It was like an adrenaline rush and I crashed as soon as we pulled up in front of my house. The house was set up on top of a small hill, with concrete stairs leading up to the walkway.

It was a palace compared to my old house, but I didn't care for it much. I managed to pull myself away, slide off the bike, and step up onto the sidewalk. He'd kept the bike running this time. But I thought it didn't hurt to say my next words anyway. "You could come inside, you know," I threw the offer into the open air, sliding my hands into my pockets to warm them.

"Something tells me you're the only one who thinks so."

His eyes were slightly narrowed, looking just to my left. I twisted to follow his line of sight. And I immediately wished I hadn't. Ben stood on the porch, hands in the pockets of his jeans, watching with a look that said he would come over here the moment something happened he didn't approve of. I'm sure the fact that Sweet Pea was taking me home on his motorcycle was enough disapproval as it was.

Sighing, I turned back to Sweet Pea, and his eyes shifted back over to mine a second later. "Maybe another time then? Some time when he's at work?" I smiled a little, a small smirk of a smile, and took a slow step backward. If anything I started moving just to force myself away from him. Sweet Pea smirked, and my resolve nearly shattered. "Yeah, i'd like that," he nodded. "You should come by the Wyrm tomorrow night. I'm sure FP will be happy to see you."

I chuckled a little, taking two more steps. "So I'm coming to see FP? No one else? Not gonna lie, I'm a little disappointed."

"I'm gonna be there, too, pouty face," his smirk grew wider.

"See, now you're getting my hopes up. So you better be there, lizard boy, or we're going to have to have a serious discussion."

He huffed an airy chuckle, and I laughed a little, too. Because I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked to someone like that, acted around someone like that. I watched him disappear down my street in between steps to the porch. Facing straight forward, Ben kept his eyes on me, giving me a cautious and disapproving expression. "Should I be worried?" he asked, a bit rhetorically.

"He just gave me a lift from Pop's," I shook my head, walking past him to the door.

As I was pulling open the screen door, he turned around and followed me in, saying, "Pop's? Was it a _date_?"

"What? No."

I made a disgusted sound, as if the thought of being on a date with Sweet Pea was somehow bad. It wasn't what I thought. But Ben needed to believe that it was. Cash popped up from the front of the couch, peering over the back of it. "On a date with who?" she questioned, curiously.

I shook my head, "It wasn't a date, Cash. We just talked."

Ben went into the kitchen to the left and i shrugged off my jacket as I began climbing the stairs. My room was the only room on the top level besides Cash's. Ben's and the other guest room were both on the main floor. My room was quaint, cozy. But that needed to change. It all needed to change. Not so much that Ben started giving me warnings, but just enough to feel alive—to feel like _myself_. This nice girl act was only necessary to keep me and Cash together.

He can't really throw us onto the street if I don't behave like a North sider. Even if he did, he wouldn't punish Cash, too. I could easily crash with FP if I got kicked out. Looking at the clock, closing the bedroom door behind me, I found that it was already almost seven. Seeing as it was a Saturday, I had all day today and all day tomorrow to reinvent myself _and_ my room. I didn't take any chances. I locked my door and put an Eminem CD into my stereo.

It couldn't go too high in volume without blowing the speakers, but I cranked it up as high as I could. Then I got to work. Clearing the walls of frilly stickers and various items hanging by push pins for decoration. I all but swiped my entire dresser top into the waste basket. All of these things were fake. They were Diana Cassidy from the North side. Nothing in my room screamed South side except for my Serpent jacket, on the back of my office chair. That was about to change.


	5. 5: Ready For It?

And so another morning started at the Blackwood household. We sat around the table, ate pancakes covered in syrup, ignoring the elephant slowly sneaking into the room. Mouthful by mouthful, the tension in the air increased. But both Ben and I chose to overlook it for as long as we could. It was like a game. I knew it. He knew it. The first person to talk about it would lose. This elephant? My bedroom. Ben saw it this morning.

He tried to act like he didn't see it. But when I came downstairs in my running gear, ready to take off, he spoke up and told me I was going to be sitting through breakfast. I ended up eating, of course, but I wouldn't let him publicly have _anything_ on me. Once I'd eaten a small portion, I pushed up from the table. "Okay, I'm going now," I announced, still chewing my last bite as I made for the door. "I'll be back in an hour!"

"Hey- since when do you run, anyway?" Ben asked.

I stopped at the open door, about to push open the screen door, and turned halfway to see him. His arm was resting on the back of his chair. His face said he was trying to act casual about the big changes. Trying to make them seem smaller so they were less he had to deal with. "This morning," was my answer. I smiled, and gave a wave. Then I was off. I pushed through and made my way down the walkway and stairs in a light jog. I would've taken Killer—our German Shepard—with me, but he was zonked out on the couch, so I didn't bother.

There was no way I was jogging on the North side. Not with the prying eyes of my classmates. They would see my Serpent tattoo. I would feel too subconscious, I knew. I would second guess myself and retreat. My feet broke into a run as I hit the sidewalk and I was truly on my way. My thought process for this endeavor was purely a selfish one. There were many benefits I could see for daily exercise. The biggest perk would be a tie between a smaller waist line and more energy for Polo.

My running gear was more for the future than anything else. I was only just firm enough in the stomach to pull off running in a sports bra and shorts. My hair was in a pony tail, bouncing at my shoulders with every new stride. To say I felt pretty good about my first day running was an understatement. When I crossed the line to the South side, I felt even better. I felt like I could relax. I took a straight shot through, planning to pass the Wyrm, and circle back just past it.

It would have worked. If I wasn't out of shape. I needed to stop for a short rest. I was almost to the Wyrm, but not quite, so I slowed to a stop at the nearest street corner. Setting unrealistic goals for myself was becoming my super power. I was exhausted, resting my palms on my hips, gulping in deep breaths of fresh air. I lifted my wrist to check my watch. It had only been fifteen minutes. This, in my mind, was pathetic. I was kicking myself for a solid thirty seconds.

That is, until I was interrupted by a solid whistle. It sounded close by. My eyes scanned the street, but they didn't need to for long. Just across the street, on the left side, was a group of younger looking Serpents. And when I say _younger_ , I mean at least sixteen. At least that's how they looked from over on my side. Among the bikers stood a familiar bean pole, his jaw slanted in a smiling smirk. "Lookin' good, D," he hollered across the street.

I rested my fists on my hips. "Really? You've stooped to cat calling now?"

"Hey, I'm just stating a fact," Sweet Pea held up his hands in surrender, but still held his smile.

"Well, if I look so good, why don't you come join me?"

He wrinkled his nose, quirking his lips in an expression. "You see, I'm not really the running type."

"Oh, okay," I let my arms fall, taking a step back and turning partially toward the street corner. "Then I guess you'll just have to admire from afar, yeah?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

His smirk returned and a blistering feeling spread across my skin as a Cheshire smile ripped it's way across my lips. I shook my head, laughing as I checked the road for cars. Then I was running again. My feet had a certain bounce to them, a weightlessness I couldn't explain at the time. Looking back on it, deep down I knew exactly what it was. But I didn't want to admit it to myself. Sweet Pea was an active Serpent living on the South side.

I was literally a wolf in sheep's clothing trying to be a North sider at Riverdale High. There was no way a relationship like that could work without ending in some kind of Shakespearean mutual suicide fueled by a Romeo and Juliet love affair. Right? That would be the reasonable thing to assume? Apparently it wasn't reasonable enough. Because just after sundown, I got dressed to head to the Whyte Wyrm.

Denim cut-off shorts—an American flag print across the front, studs on the back pockets—that were honestly a little too tight considering I bought them when I was fourteen, a black t-shirt that kept tight across my collar bones but ended an inch above my navel, my ripped up converse, and one final touch to complete it. But that would come after my makeup. I didn't put on anything flashy or strenuous—I wasn't the tedious designs type.

I went with neutral tones for a light but smokey eye shadow and a bit of lip gloss. This was something I would've worn to school two years ago, let alone the Wyrm. I hadn't gone full Serpent in a long time. But it was long over do. I left the bathroom and went straight to the desk. My Serpent jacket had been hanging on the back of my office chair for over a year. It was time it reunited with my shoulders. My fingers tugged it off the back of the chair.

A wave of momentary dizziness hit me, followed immediately by a rush of adrenaline. It felt so good and I hadn't even put it on yet. That changed in a millisecond, when I slid my arms into the sleeves, and shrugged it up onto my shoulders. It fit perfectly, even a little loosely. Instinctively, I twisted to see the closed bedroom door behind me. Cash was in bed sleeping and I knew Ben turned out his light every night at eight—in a half hour.

The last time I'd snuck out of the house was for initiation, three years ago. This was a whole new ballgame. But there was something freeing, something exciting about easing open my window's wide door and climbing out onto the over hang of the back porch. I was careful to close the window behind me. If Ben found out I did this, if he knew I put the jacket back on, he would never let me out of the house again. So I walked on egg shells across the dark backyard to the fence door.

On the other side, I was breathing heavily, my heart pounding against my rib cage. My pulse thumped rapidly in my ears. I'm going to get in trouble. It was the only thing I could think about. Mostly because I had to sneak through the neighborhood like some lowly thief so that no one would see me in the middle of the night wearing a Serpent jacket. It was ridiculous. I couldn't help but think that if I lived at my house, on the South side, I wouldn't have to sneak out at all.

My dad probably would've been the one to introduce me to the younger Serpents. "You need to surround yourself with people that will support you," he would've said. "Your Serpent brothers and sisters are the best you're gonna get around here." And he would have been right. Serpents are humans that make mistakes like the rest of the world. But there's a certain value of loyalty that you can't find in a North side High School.

North siders are full of themselves because they have the money to be. They don't know real struggle. People like Archie Andrews capture your heart and then break it when it suits him. People like Veronica Lodge are the reason girls get their heart broken by guys like Archie Andrews. The Blossoms are just there for their looks and their money. Don't get me started on the Coopers—more specifically, Alice Cooper. Talk about HBIC.

I'd only been over to Betty's house once and it was enough to make me never want to go back again. It was too stressful. Alice Cooper is the most interrogative North sider I have ever come across. One of the only North siders I like is Jughead. And technically he's not even a North sider. Not by blood, anyway. The adrenaline in my veins was causing my hands to shake lightly at my sides, crossing the street to the Wyrm's door.

As I pushed it open, a number of heads turned. But that was standard procedure. The number of heads that stayed were due to the sheer surprise in seeing me there, wearing what I was wearing. No one had seen me in it for over a year. It seemed to surprise a lot of people that I was back with it. I let the door fall closed behind me. Just as it thudded closed, I heard my name, coming from a voice that sent bumps up my covered arms.

My head instinctively turned toward the sound, finding the source almost instantly. It was him. Sweet Pea started walking toward me from the left and I turned to face him. "Thought I wouldn't show?" I asked, a small smile quirking the corners of my lips.

"I knew you would," he smirked, coming to a stop a foot from me. "Just didn't think you'd be dressed like that."

The smile on my lips widened as I tugged at the lapels of my Serpent jacket pointedly. "Me neither. Got to admit it looks good on me, though."

He took a step forward, left shoulder aligned with my right one, and he leaned close. "Something tells me," his voice was a husky whisper against my ear. " _Anything_ would look good on you." My cheeks blistered but, thankfully for me, he didn't see. Sweet Pea walked behind me toward the right side of the pool table. The pair of lungs in my chest were broken. Forcing myself to breathe a little faster to make them work, I turned to face the table.

Maybe this was a mistake for the sake of my poor, unprepared body. Last time I was this attracted to someone he broke my heart. And now my lungs are broken, too. What body part will burst into flames next? My liver? I kind of need that organ. "You play?" Sweet Pea asked, gesturing to the table with one hand while grabbing a cue stick with the other.

"What kind of a question is that?" I countered, rhetorically. "I was playing pool while still in diapers."

I walked around the pool table to the rack and he handed me a stick, then grabbed another for himself. He smirked down at me, "You should win with no problem, then."

"Yes. Yes, I should," I nodded once. Sidestepping once, I moved around to the left side of the pool table while Sweet Pea rounded up the balls from the table top. The unfortunate thing for me about this scenario was that I actually hadn't played pool since I first left the South side two years ago. The basic knowledge of the game doesn't really go away, but the technique fades with each passing day until you're swinging the stick like a dying duck.

There was a lot more riding on this game than my pride. The break sunk a solid so, unfortunately, I was stripes. Stripes and I never had any luck together. But I kept my chin up and pretended like I wasn't about to bail through the back window, taking my turn when he didn't sink anything on the next go. I tried to look relaxed, bending and lining up my shot. There was no strategy to this. It was sink or be sunk. My stick hit the cue ball, sending it into the red-striped eleven.

The eleven just barely made it in the far corner pocket, but it looked better than his first shot. I stood up straight, giving a triumphant closed-mouthed smile, and stepped past Sweet Pea to line up my next shot. "Yeah, keep smiling," he taunted, light-heartedly, as I walked past him. "I haven't even made my move yet."

"I'm trembling," I bit my lip in concentration.

I slid the cue stick a little on my finger, readjusting. Then I sunk the green-striped fourteen. After my third ball, I just barely missed and my turn was over. Sweet Pea moved around the table to the cue ball. It had bounced back toward me a bit, so he came to stand almost directly to my right. I moved left a step, but otherwise didn't move. Just watched. One hand on my cue stick, the other on the edge of the table, practically breathing down his neck.

It wasn't hard to tell he was aiming for the orange five. But the cue ball missed it completely, therefore missing the shot completely. He stood up a little, twisting to see me, exhaling. "You're cheating," he said, looking at me seriously.

"How am I cheating?" I rose an eyebrow.

He smirked a little, "How am I supposed to focus when you're standing so close to me?"

"Oh, no- that's all you. I'm just standing here minding my own business. You've just got to find a way to live with it, Sweets."

I'd said the word before I truly thought about it. His head tilted a fraction of an inch, eyes narrowing. "What did you just call me?"

"I believe I said 'Sweets'," I repeated it, a bit timidly. "What? Should I not call you that-?"

"No, I like it when you say it."

He shook his head with an airy chuckle, and all I could manage was a small hiccup of one. Suddenly I didn't know how I was going to focus standing so close, either. Because I wasn't focusing. Not on anything other than his lit up eyes and chest piercing smile. That all washed away in a split second. "Looks like you two are having fun," a familiar voice came from the right.

My head instantly turned that way, but I could tell it was FP by the somewhat sarcastic tone to his voice. I subconsciously took one step backward, distancing myself from Sweet Pea a little more. "Hey, FP," I greeted, slightly monotone. "Long time, no see."

FP took a couple slow steps toward us, stopping less than three feet away. He looked right at me. "What are you doing here, kid?" he asked, his voice quieted but still serious.

"Hanging out…? Sweet Pea said I should come by, and I thought it would be nice to stay for a little while when I came to visit," I answered, trying to put most of the blame on me.

Yes, Sweet Pea was also a Serpent. But he was a male. If FP thought I was only breaking the rules—sneaking out, risking everything I have—because of some boy whispering in my ear, that boy would have hell to pay, no matter where he came from. FP hummed a little, before nodding to himself. "If I remember correctly, your curfew was at seven-thirty," he said, his voice returning to normal volume. "Wanna tell me why you're here at _nine_ -thirty?"

I sighed, my shoulders relaxing. But then I squared them as my mind suddenly changed itself, and looked FP square in the eyes with a neutral expression. "I'm being myself. When I'm here, I'm where I belong," I said, certainly. "No one saw me, no one knows I'm gone. If Ben finds out—I'll take the heat."

He eyed me a quiet moment, and I swallowed under his scrutinizing gaze. Then he stood back on his heels after huffing a patronizing chuckle, like it was somehow amusing to him. He turned to Sweet Pea. "Take her home, and don't bring her back here after dark again. Understand?" His tone was serious but it wasn't a reprimand. It was a warning. One not to be taken lightly, I knew.

Sweet Pea nodded and FP began to walk away. But, before he did, he looked at me over his shoulder, eyes connecting with mine as he said, "I expect better from you, Diana Jane." And then he went into the back room. I deflated with an exhale. I know he did expect better from me. But he didn't know what it was like to live on the North, so far away from the people that make up my very abnormal family. Either way, North side Diana rose up in me, putting the cue stick on the table.

"I guess I'm going home," I said, glancing up at Sweet Pea.

I couldn't quite tell what he was thinking. His expression looked slightly perturbed, and I completely understood why. Sometimes it was nice when FP acted like my father. Other times it was downright obnoxious. But it didn't matter how we felt about the order. If FP gave it, we have to comply, or we'd suffer his wrath. He looks like a drunk that just stumbled out from the bar after three years but his bite was way worse than his bark.

Sweet Pea walked me out of the Wyrm and to his motorcycle. Though I'd apologized for FP's overprotective strictness, he said he understood. Even found a way to flirt with me over it. But it still bugged me that our time was cut short in such an abrupt way. As usual, the motorcycle ride was probably the highlight of my day. I couldn't tell if it was because I liked being on a motorcycle, or if I liked being on a motorcycle with Sweet Pea.

There was something about resting my chin on his shoulder, keeping my arms tight around his middle, with nothing but the sound of the wind whipping at my ears. We stopped at the usual spot just down the sidewalk from my house. The bike was too loud to get any closer. I pried myself away and climbed off, stepping up onto the sidewalk, as soon as the bike was off. My hands dug deep into my leather pockets as I turned to face him.

"Sorry, again, about FP," I apologized, for probably the millionth time. "I don't know why he gets so God Father with me."

Sweet Pea shook his head, wearing a loose smirk. "It's okay, I get it. He just wants to keep you safe."

Though his expression was rather loose, his words were tight with a certain seriousness, a certain depth. For a second it had me wondering what he meant by it. But I forced myself to move on, seeing as I was almost three hours past curfew and we both had school the next morning. "Well, thanks for giving me a ride," I said, smiling a little. I took two steps away. "Goodnight."

"Diana, wait."

I was already pausing, turning back around, when I felt a grip on my wrist. One strong tug pulled me toward him. And this was it. This was the moment I was looking for in my life—the one where everything went wrong. Because he gripped my denim covered hips and devoured my lips while my hands were gripping locks of his hair. I didn't know how one thing had lead to another in that moment.

How a small touching of lips had turned into the deepest kiss i'd ever had. But when it was over, his forehead touched mine, my hands resting against his jawline and neck. "Wanna have dinner with me tomorrow night?" his voice was worn through, softened to a level i'd never heard him use before. It turned my stomach with the heat it brought to my skin.

I was breathless when I replied, "Yes."


	6. 6: Electric Love

I never thought I could feel so good walking into a North side high school. Or walking into any high school, ever. But it felt like I was springing from step to step, swaying a little as I reached my locker. It was almost directly across the hall from Archie's. But it didn't bother me. Not right then. How could it? I woke up this morning feeling like I'd been given a shot of something. Though I wasn't dressed in pastels, it felt like I might as well have been.

I'd come downstairs only to receive a text from my snake emoji contact, asking if I wanted a lift to school. Originally I thought it was a bad idea. But when I began to reply, stepping out the front door, I found my favorite South Side Serpent on his motorcycle at the end of the driveway, waiting for me. And I haven't stopped smiling since. I didn't notice when Jughead arrived beside me at my locker. But his voice pulled me from whatever dreamland I'd created.

"Hey, Diana," he greeted, in his usual not-a-morning-person-tone. But then it changed to one of confusion as he added, " _What_ did you pour into your Cheerios this morning? You look like a walking Drew Barrymore movie."

My eyes shifted to his face as I gave him a look, sliding my English textbook into the locker. "I didn't take anything."

"Well, then, someone slipped you something, because the only time I've ever seen you smile like _that_ was at your cousin's sixth birthday party. When we were _nine_."

"I met someone," I admitted, turning to my locker.

Jughead was quiet for a short pause. "Didn't you _just_ break up with Archie?"

"Jug, really? Come on. You're gonna slut-shame me now? Archie didn't even love me," I pointed out, glancing at him again.

"And I take it this new one does?" he exhaled after his rhetorical question, then crossed his arms as he dropped his back against the next locker over. "Who is it? Honestly, I really don't care as long it's not Reggie. Or Chuck." I finished with my books and paused. Telling Jughead just yet who I was setting my eyes on wasn't the best of ideas, given all of the horrible ways it could go wrong. FP would be furious. So I held that information to myself.

I shook my head. "Not saying. Can't jinx it."

"What? He at least goes to this school, doesn't he?"

It was another rhetorical question. Because he 'knew' I was going to say yes. But when I didn't, and instead folded my lips into my mouth in an almost guilty expression, his features moved more and more into a look of disbelief. Saying my name as though I'd secretly eaten the forbidden fruit. " _Diana_."

I hiked up my shoulders, shutting the locker door, and turned to face him. "What do you want me to say, Jug?"

"I don't know. I mean...where did you even meet this guy if not at school?" he questioned, interrogatively. "He _is_ in high school, right?"

A smile spread across my lips as I realized the emotion on his face. We began walking down the hall as I replied. "Awe, you're like one of those dads on an eighties sitcom," I patronized, teasing in a mock sweet tone. He rolled his eyes, making a pfft, but he smiled a little, too. "We met at Pop's. Don't worry, Juggie. You'll get to meet him eventually and you'll see he's not as bad as the version of him you're creating in your head right now. I promise."

"And you're _sure_ you can't give me his name?" he tried again, narrowing one eye in a hopeful expression.

I snatched the beanie off his head. "You're just gonna have to do something no other heterosexual, white male in this country can seem to do, and take 'no' for an answer."

My hands pulled the beanie on my head at an odd angle and I made a face. He laughed at that, but I could tell he was still unsettled. Our smiles and laughter ended too soon. And the only reason was because of Veronica Lodge. She suddenly walked up to us, right in the way of our path to Algebra, and my happiness almost completely flew out the window. But I kept my chin up, shoulders squared, and pretended like I didn't care where she was standing.

"Veronica," I said, with disinterest. "What's causing you to breathe my oxygen this morning?"

I could feel Jughead's eyes on me as he took back his beanie, situating it atop his head. But I didn't care. I folded my arms over the notebook I pressed to my chest, waiting for Veronica to grow a back bone and tell me what I already knew. "Diana, I want to...apologize, for what happened at Cheryl's party," she said. She looked regretful. Did I care? Not as much as I know I should have.

"Archie made his choice a long time ago," I resigned, exhaling. "You were just a new piece of meat with a nice flavor."

"Whoa, okay, dial it back a notch, will you?" Jughead said, looking only at me.

He was chuckling a bit nervously with his words, a failed attempt at making it light-hearted. My eyes were on Veronica. Then I rolled them after seeing her pathetic excuse for a sad and apologetic expression just as the bell rang. "If you'll excuse me, I have better things to do with my time," I concluded, nodding once. I walked around her, my shoulder nudging hers as I passed, and I kept going toward the Algebra classroom.

I didn't care that day what my words would do. All that had mattered to me was how I felt. This was the South side Diana. I welcomed her with open arms over night, like an absent friend i'd been saving a seat for, and it was already starting to take effect. This was what I wanted. Everyone else just had to stay out of my way. In Algebra, the only open seat was right next to Archie. I took it but I didn't dare look in his direction. Not after testing out what I was capable of on Veronica.

"Good morning students, this is your principal speaking," Principal Weatherbee's voice came over the PA, and my eyes shifted skyward. "There have been many inquiries about the upcoming pep rally. So let me state clearly, it is happening as scheduled. Now, on a less felicitous note, if you could give your attention to Sheriff Keller."

"Most of you already know the details, but your classmate Jason Blossom's body was found late Saturday night. So as of the weekend, Jason's death is being treated as a homicide. It is an open and on-going investigation," Sheriff Keller spoke next.

Then, as abruptly as a bull in a China closet, Cheryl's voice blasted over the PA. "And if I may interject, neither I nor my parents will rest until Jason's death is avenged, and his cold-hearted killer is walking the green mile to sit in Old Sparky and fry," she said. That was about the point where my forehead hit my palms. "I, for one, have my suspicions. Hashtag Riverdale strong."

After a short pause, Sheriff Keller returned. "If you know anything that could help us find and apprehend Jason's killer, or anything about what happened to him on July fourth, I strongly urge you to come forward immediately. You can speak with me or Principal Weatherbee. A death like this wounds us all. Let's not let Jason down."

As class started, that's all I could think about. That last sentence from Sheriff Keller. _Let's not let Jason down_. That's _all_ I did. That's all I'm _doing_. Cheryl and I already made a pact to keep it a secret for as long as possible. To cover over the ugly truth about what really happened on July fourth. How we were both there. How Jason walked away. How we never heard from him again.

* * *

Pulling back on the reins with my left, I readjusted my stick in my right. "That was good, you guys," Coach Daniels said, from the side of the arena. It seemed that those words were spoken too soon. Lewis crossed the wrong stride. I felt Indiana tense beneath me before it happened but I didn't have time to brace for it. She put on her proverbial brakes and slid like a reining champion, causing my chest to slam into her neck as her back half slid slightly beneath her—all of this to miss running into Lewis.

With one hand available to fix this situation, I nearly tumbled right out of the saddle. My foot slipped from the stirrup as Indie kicked up her back hooves to regain her standing position after the slide. "Diana! You okay?" Jessie called, not far off behind me.

"I'm good," I assured, breathless when Indie finally came to a stand.

"Lewis, what did I tell you about crossing the inside line?" Coach Daniels spoke loudly enough to be heard across the arena. "Diana, are you sure you're alright?"

I nodded quickly, just as Jade was slowing from a trot to my left. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'll walk it off."

"Sorry, Diana!" Lewis hollered.

Exhaling, readjusting my position in the saddle, I slid my foot back up into the stirrup. "I think that was the gnarliest parkour I've ever seen you do," Jade commented, chuckling a bit. "You're gonna feel that in the morning, for sure." I nodded in agreement and cued Indie into a walk. She was breathing a bit fast, too. A walk was probably the best thing for both of us.

"Alright, that's enough for today. Everyone take a break, cool down the ponies, and get them in the stalls," Daniels instructed.

We were all relieved when she said practice was over. Jessie and Lewis looped their cool down tracks in time with mine and Jade's after a moment, and we were quick to learn why. They had ulterior motives. "Hey, guys. We should all go to Pop's tonight," Jessie suggested, sounding bubbly from just behind me and to the right. "You know, like a Polo team group hang out. Who's in?"

Jade and Lewis agreed, saying they both had pretty much nothing better to do. But, if we were all being honest here, none of us really did. And then I remembered I had plans. Plans to go to Pop's tonight at seven with Sweet Pea. I told Ben that I was going to a study group tonight and he extended my curfew to eleven. "I'm sorry, guys, but I can't. I have a date tonight," I apologized.

"A date? With who?!" Jessie practically shrieked in excitement.

What can I say? She was a freshman. Jade only looked over at me with a sly smirk and a pair of knowing eyes, eyebrows risen on her forehead a bit. "Is it with Mt. Biker McDreamy?" she asked, rhetorically. The only person on the team I'd told about Sweet Pea was Jade. And when I say _told_ , I mean gossiped to her until at least three hours past curfew every night since he first walked me home.

Jade knew everything. Probably a lot of things she _shouldn't_ have known. I could hear Lewis make a loud pfft as all four of us made an awkward scramble out of the turn back toward the barn. "A _biker_? You can do so much better, Diana," he said, with a light-hearted tone. Twisting in my saddle, I smiled at him with a closed-mouth.

"Thanks, Lewis. But he's actually not that bad," I said, before facing forward in my saddle again. "We were supposed to go to Pop's at seven."

"That's perfect. You can just hang out with us until he gets there," Jessie proposed.

"We're only going to show up at, like, six-thirty, so you'll only have us for roughly thirty minutes," Jade assured, jokingly.

There was no way this went my definition of well. But I agreed to it. After getting Indie to the barn and tying her to the hook just outside her stall, I took a second to send Sweet Pea a text explaining the change in plans. That I would meet him at Pop's at the agreed upon time because I had a school group going on at six thirty. Except, I used much less formal words. Then I slid my phone away, and started taking the tack off of Indie.

* * *

I had time to shower—thankfully—and change into a clean pair of jeans and a batman t-shirt before heading to Pop's at six-thirty. I'd looked longingly at my Serpent jacket, the poor thing once again forgotten on the back of my chair. But I knew I couldn't wear it no matter how badly I wanted to. Not now, and I don't know if ever in the future. Instead I put on a light cloth jacket and hit the road. The walk was nice for the first thirty seconds.

And then the Ginger Bread Man attacked. He came down from his driveway onto the sidewalk as I was passing and I died a little inside. "Hey, Diana," he called, running over and then falling into step with me. "Where are you headed?"

"Away from you," I answered, simply.

He sighed, "Look, Diana, I know we broke up. But I'm still worried about you. Jughead mentioned something about you acting weirdly at school today? Is everything okay?"

"I appreciate the attempt, wannabe Troy Bolton. But I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. I'm going on a date."

"A date?" Archie's expression cork screwed into one of confusion. "With _who_?"

"Not your business, Andrews," I shook my head slowly, keeping my eyes forward.

"Diana, I'm sorry-"

My head snapped left so fast I thought it would snap right off. "You broke my heart, Archie. You don't get to say that. Especially not with the _reason_ we broke up. Just go back to writing songs about how terrible your little jock life is and stay away from me."

He exhaled, but kept his eyes forward and his mouth shut. We walked up the street for a little while in silence. Then he said a pathetic 'good luck' and jumped this sinking ship of a conversation to turn back and go home. He was smart that way. Archie always knew when to drop it when I was angry at him or refusing to give him the time of day.

But this was more than that. This was me specifically tell him to get lost. I'd never felt so empowered than I had after he left. I slid my hands in my pockets and carried on in my quest to make it to Pop's alive. Thankfully for me, I made it just after six-thirty. The gang was talking outside when I arrived. Jade waved me down and I hopped into a jog to get to them faster. "Hey," I greeted, joining the group. "Sorry I'm late."

"No worries, we just got here," Jessie shook her head. "Let's go inside, guys!"

She practically bounced up to the door, pulling it open and holding it for the rest of us as we filed into the diner. The topic of conversation was on Whisper—Lewis's Polo pony—and the problem he was having keeping weight on him as we slid into the first booth available, on the right side of the aisle. With the Polo team, we were responsible for a lot of decisions and provisions involving our mounts. One of our responsibilities was feeding after practice.

Jade and Lewis sat opposite of me and Jessie, and I made sure to get a seat where I could see the door. Though I still had twenty-five minutes, I was almost shaking in anticipation of his arrival. Honestly, I just wanted to see him again. A whole school day without seeing his face made me feel restless, and I didn't like it. After a short moment, a waitress came to our booth. Her name tag said Hermione and I knew with a touch of dread that it was Hermione _Lodge_ —Veronica's mother.

When your legal guardian is close friends with Hal Cooper, you hear things walking around that big empty house. It didn't matter to me whose mother she was. Veronica's mother didn't hurt me and my relationship—Veronica did. So I smiled brightly at her and held out my hand. "Hi, I'm Diana Cassidy," I greeted, introducing myself. "Welcome back to Riverdale."

She smiled back, her expression one of slight surprise, shaking my hand. "Oh, thank you. I can't say I've gotten such warm receptions from other residents. Ones a _lot_ older than you."

"Yeah, well, Diana's a kiss-up, so," Lewis shrugged across the table.

Jade smacked his upper arm with her unused menu and he grabbed his arm as if it hurt. Hermione only chuckled at our interactions. "Well, either way, I appreciate it," she said, mostly to me. Then she looked to everyone together. "Now, what can I get for you four tonight?"

The three others all ordered the same thing, Jade ordering last. She and Lewis were still glaring at each other a bit, but we all knew it was just play. I didn't order anything yet. There wasn't a need to. Hermione wrote down on her notepad, then looked up to see me. "Are you not eating, sweetie?"

"I'm just waiting for someone else," I shook my head a little. "I've got ten minutes of slumming it until my date gets here, _then_ I'll be eating."

I chuckled a little, and so did she, and she went to the front counter. Once she was gone, I forced myself to make a frown. If anything, just to prove to myself that I could still do it. That South side Diana hadn't left me yet. Being that nice to a stranger was North side Diana's favorite thing to do. Because that's what good girls do. I relaxed my features and glanced up at the door. "Someone's anxious," Jessie teased.

Making a pfft, I looked away from the door, and instead looked at the group. "When was the last time you got asked out?" Lewis asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. I had to think about that question for a moment. Archie and I never really did anything like this. We didn't go to Pop's on an actual date type of dinner. We usually only did it so that he, Jughead, and I could all hang out after school or on weekends. I shrugged up one shoulder, "A year, maybe?"

" _A whole year_?" his jaw dropped, along with his menu, slapping the plastic onto the table top with a loud smack. "What were you and Archie _doing_ for the last year and a half of your relationship?!"

"School, work, separate summer plans," I shrugged bother shoulders this time.

Just then, right when Lewis was about to speak again, the bell above the door chimed like a sound from heaven. My heart lurched into my throat and my eyes instantly flickered up. It was him. His eyes found mine and his lips curved into their signature smirk. He was wearing his leather Serpent jacket this time. I'd decided then it was my favorite look. I glanced around at my friends in the booth. "Sorry, my date's here," I apologized, speaking quickly, moving to get up. "Gotta boogie."

As I slid out of the booth, I heard Lewis whisper to Jade, "Did she just say ' _boogie_ '?"

I ignored it. Mostly because Sweet Pea was almost to me during prime comeback time. So I walked the four steps it took to meet him, sliding my hands onto his cheeks as he leaned in for a kiss, reciprocating the gesture without hesitation. It hadn't crossed my mind that my Polo team was getting an eye full. It hadn't mattered. All that mattered was that I could feel his skin again and he was holding me against him with his strong arms around me.

He tasted like cigarettes and spearmint—a combination that sounds fairly odd, but was steadily becoming my favorite flavor. When we parted, I was smiling like an idiot. "I missed you," I tilted my head, speaking sweetly, like a love-struck puppy.

"I missed you, too."

Sweet Pea placed another quick kiss on my lips before we fully parted. We sat in a booth closer to the back to allow for some privacy from my nosy Polo teammates. I slid into the booth seat facing away from the door and he slid in next to me. He put his arm around my shoulders and I leaned into him. "I didn't know you ride horses," he said, an air of surprise to his tone. "How long have you been riding?"

"Ever since I moved to the North side—so about two years, give or take," I answered.

He readjusted his position, leaning back a bit more in the booth. "I've never really been a sports fan. But I might have to drag myself to the North side sometime, watch you play." That was the first thing that surprised me, caught me off guard. Archie was always too busy for things like Arena Polo. Either that, or he secretly wasn't interested and didn't want to go.

I smiled, tilting my head back against his shoulder to look up at him. "I'd like that," I agreed.

He tipped his head an inch, took my lips between his softly. Not a second after, a feminine voice interrupted, causing us to part. "Can I get anything for you love birds?" Hermione asked. Her smile seemed strained to me. I hadn't been around this woman enough to know for sure at the time. But it was true. Her eyes remained mostly on me when they weren't on her notepad. And the times her gaze flickered toward Sweet Pea were brief.

When she left with our order, I twisted a bit to look up at Sweet Pea. He didn't seem bothered by her obvious gestures of disapproval. I supposed if you lived as a Serpent long enough, you became accustomed to the disapproval of the masses. After a second of me staring, his eyes shifted left and caught mine.

His lips broke into a smile as he chuckled once, "What?"

I shook my head, smiling back at him, "Just admiring the view."


	7. 7: Both of Us

I couldn't figure it out. How could a sweet, kind boy from a good neighborhood be the worst boyfriend option? It wasn't supposed to be like that. The bad boy wasn't supposed to be the knight that saves the princess from the castle surrounded by dragons. But he wasn't a knight. Because I didn't need one. The white horse had two wheels and an engine. The dragons were my pets. One of them lived on my body in a permanent mark.

Though he wasn't a fairy tale prince, he sure looked like one. Especially from this angle. Sitting on the bleacher just above him, his left shoulder leaning into my right thigh, my fingers absentmindedly combing through his black hair as I turned another page of my Biology textbook. The book sat open across my lap. I was supposed to be studying a bit before class so I could pass the pop quiz the entire class knew was going to happen today.

But my mind was elsewhere. It was stuck on the boy taking a pull from a cigarette and blowing the smoke, sitting beside me. All Sweet Pea knew was that I was studying, concentrating, and needed quiet. He didn't know I was analyzing every freckle on his face, the texture of his hair. At least, that's what I thought I knew. But, like every other scenario in my life when I think I know something, I was proven wrong when he spoke up.

"You're gonna fail that quiz," he stated.

I exhaled, "I don't care."

Huffing an airy chuckle, he twisted toward me, ditching the cigarette. I closed the stupid textbook and sat it beside me. Sweet Pea slung an arm around my waist and used the other hand to grip my hip farthest from him, then began pulling me toward him, off the edge of the bleacher. I grinned and climbed down beside him. I was met immediately by his lips against mine, and it was a welcomed gesture, reciprocated in a millisecond. This was yet another thing that surprised me.

Making out on the bleachers before school wasn't something Archie would do. If we kissed before class, it was in the school, at his locker or on the way to the classroom. There was no secret escape. No rendezvous out the back door. Nothing was private. But this was anything but public. It didn't matter because it was just for us. It was our secret. Something no one could take from us. The sound of bell ringing echoed faintly in my ear.

For a moment, I chose to ignore it, too caught up in the taste of his lips. But then I pulled away and sighed heavily. "That's me," I said, hushed, as though there were people around to hear if I spoke any louder. "Which means you're extremely late at _your_ school."

He shrugged a little, smirking. "I'll survive. What time's your game tonight?"

"Four o'clock," I answered, before twisting to retrieve my forgotten Biology textbook. I faced forward again before continuing. "It takes at least two hours, so we had to schedule it kind of early to avoid conflict with the pep rally later tonight. Wait- does this inquiry mean you're going to be cheering me on in the stands?"

I was smiling, that Cheshire smile I could never seem to hide in his presence. He chuckled, smiling back at me. "I don't know about cheer leading, but I'll definitely be there," he answered. We'd shared one more quick kiss before I had to sprint inside the school like my butt was on fire. The only weird looks I got were when I slid into my seat so fast I nearly fell right off the other side. Jughead and I were lab partners, but we also usually sat together in Algebra.

He glanced over at me, his eyebrow furrowing as I righted myself and pulled my book out of my bag. "Nice of you to join us, Ms. Cassidy," our Algebra teacher, Mr. Rhys, said. I gave a closed-mouthed smile and singular nod before burying myself in the lesson. As the class got out, I stuffed my textbook into my bag and dug out my cell phone. I hadn't noticed Jughead hanging back enough to talk to me until I'd turned around, nearly bumping right into his front.

"Jug? What's up?" I asked, pulling my bag strap onto my shoulder.

We started for the door, leaving the classroom as he spoke. "What are you getting yourself into, Diana?" his voice was hushed, leaning in a bit as we walked. "A South Side Serpent? You couldn't have found someone a little less dangerous to be rebellious with?"

"What are you talking about, Jughead?"

I played dumb, even though I knew he'd see right through it. And he did. He titled his head in an expression. "Archie saw you at Pop's Monday night, with some guy in leather all over you. But it was mostly the big _snake_ on the back of his jacket that ticked him off."

"That was three days ago, Jug, right after I told Archie off," I pointed out. "Are you sure he isn't just making this up so he can stay angry at me?"

Jughead stopped walking and so I did, too. "Diana, this isn't a joke. I saw you two together—with my own two eyes. Yesterday morning? Back parking lot?"

My shoulders relaxed as I exhaled deeply. This was quickly spiraling into something I didn't want to participate in. A hand resting on my bag strap, the other holding my phone at my side, I shrugged. "What do you want me say? It's not some evil plot to rebel against the machine. I like him— _a lot_."

"Yeah, he must like you, too, considering he couldn't take his hands off you for five seconds," Jughead was starting to sound more bitter about the topic by the second. But I didn't know what I could've said to make it better, or make it go away. He crossed his arms. "We tell each other everything. But, instead of just talking to me, you lied about it. Little hint? If you wanted your relationship with a Serpent secret, you shouldn't have brought him on school property."

"I'm sorry, Jughead! Okay? I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But...I _couldn't_ risk it. If I got you involved and something happened to you—I could never live with myself."

A certain guilt i'd kept tucked in my back pocket tainted everything and everyone in my life. The thought of losing Jughead brought a physical pain to my chest cavity. And I knew then that my words held too much merit. The slight watering of my eyes, my choice of words, caused his expression to ease out into a genuine worry. "Diana...what is going on with you? Talk to me, _please_. Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Sudden awareness caused me to glance around, but the hall was empty. This paranoia wasn't unnatural. It was a deep-seated instinct. An instinct to protect. "Not here," I shook my head, looking to Jughead. "Come to my house tomorrow. Okay? We'll talk."

* * *

Preparing for a Polo game was always nerve wracking. The adrenaline was at a fever pitch before even walking into the barn. But then you add the unsettling guilt and doubt gnawing on your bones from promising to tell your best friend that you've been lying to him your entire relationship, and it feels like your body is about to implode. Thoughts were running through my mind. Scenarios of terrible meetings between Sweet Pea and Jughead.

They were both going to the game. What would be the odds they'd just happen to bump into each other? Maybe Jughead would notice Sweet Pea was there and stage some kind of incident where they met just to tell him off? Sweet Pea had a temper. If Jughead did tell him off, you could bet your life on a fist fight. All of it was beginning to turn my stomach sour, hefting my saddle onto Indiana's back. I secured the girth and started getting her breastplate on.

That's when Jade walked over. She exhaled, alerting me to her presence with a small startle. "Hey, you almost tacked up?" she asked, unaware of my mental state. "I could get her wraps on if you're running behind?"

"Sure, thanks," I nodded quickly.

I was just finishing with the breastplate when Jade grabbed the Polo wraps off the hay bales in front of Indie's stall. She started wrapping the front legs. Once I was finished, I took the wraps for the back legs, then squatted to wrap them. "Are you okay? You look a little stressed," Jade observed, looking at me through Indiana's legs.

"I think I blew it, J," I admitted, shaking my head at myself, keeping my eyes on the Polo wrap I was securing. "Jug knows, so does Archie—sort of."

"Did you guys have a fight or something?"

"Yeah, I guess, but that's not what worries me."

Jade finished the front legs and came to Indie's other back leg to wrap it while we spoke. It was hard to hear over the sound of Jessie and Lewis doing their pregame ritual—rapping all the lyrics to _Lose Yourself_ by Eminem while doing their stretches in the middle of the hallway. "What's worrying you?" Jade inquired.

"Sweet Pea. He's coming tonight—so is Jughead. I just keep seeing them running into each other and Sweet Pea breaking Jug's nose in my head. Now that's all I'm thinking about, instead of playing Polo, right before the first game of the season against Neptune. You know our standings with them, J! If we lose this game because I wasn't paying attention-"

"Okay. Calm down. You're gonna do great because that's who you are," Jade interrupted, as we stood upon finishing the wraps.

My shoulders tried to relax and I exhaled, giving a solid nod. "You're right. I'm being a girl again. Shut up and win the game, Diana!"

She laughed and I chuckled—somewhat anxiously. Then we were leading the horses out into the arena as a team for warm-up. We took turns using the mounting block, and then we were off. Walking the length of the large arena as those arriving to watch the game filed into the stands on the right side. Any sport was pressure. Pressure to perform under scrutinizing eyes of many. But there was something about an equestrian sport that beat all other levels of anxiety.

Not only were you pressured to perform in front of many, but you had to do it on the back of a thousand pound beast who didn't speak English. You had to convince that beast to bend to your will, doing your bidding, obeying without question. Many horses questioned their riders. Those horses were often the horses that lost the game. A spook could be as simple as a split second startle or as complex as a bucking spree across the entire length of the arena.

There weren't a lot of in betweens and they were impossible to predict. But, as _Eye of The Tiger_ started playing in my mind, I cued Indie into a trot. This would not get the better of me, I decided. I would not bend. Not even when Neptune's team started warming up, showing their muscle. Our team had younger players but we were a force to be reckoned with. It was all in good fun. Even though we came to win. The first period of the match began.

It was a bit of a rocky start. Neptune had the ball, but a ride off from Lewis prevented them from scoring. I was able to get the ball, turn the game around, and start pushing us all back the other way. Jade rode up ahead and I waited. I waited for the right moment. It was cutting it close, but I sent the ball across the field to her, and she immediately lined up a shot. She sent the ball rocketing through the goal posts and the stands erupted in cheers.

I didn't have to look, but I assumed Jughead and Sweet Pea were cheering. Jughead always came to my games. It was a given that he would be there. I'd found him during warm-up, standing just to the left of the stands, opting out of the crowded bleacher seats. This was a four period game. Us players more commonly called them chukkers, but the formal term was periods. Either way, we scored three times in the second period.

The problem was that Neptune scored two, which supplemented the four they achieved in the first. Riverdale was falling behind by two in the start of the third period. But the crowd stayed ever positive, keeping up the cheering even when it looked like we weren't going to make the shot. The one time I had the ball and I was driving it in myself, a Neptune lackey pulled a hook and managed to get the ball. I didn't care what number it was.

Not when Jessie got the ball back three strides later. She had Jade and Lewis backing her up, and she scored us a goal. The crowd almost deafened me. There was a good handful of spectators from each team. But the Riverdale crew was the loudest. Riverdale goes hard with sports. Almost a little too hard. But the energy was dialed to eleven in the fourth and final period. We were tied going in, and the goal was to be higher coming out.

I couldn't help throwing a solid fist into the air when I was the first scorer in the period. It was a solid sprint from nearly the other end of the arena to our goal posts. It was electrifying. The thrill of it all. But the next sounds coming from the crowd weren't cheers. They were sounds of shock and concern—horror, more like. I hadn't seen it. I didn't know. But as soon as I rounded to double back, I knew something was wrong.

The other players had stopped in weird places, like they'd stopped mid-stride. All the riders were either getting off or already on their feet, moving to one singular position—Jade's empty horse. My heart raced into my throat, getting Indie to canter closer before practically diving off the saddle. I stumbled, but I caught myself, and kept running. I unclipped my helmet and tossed it somewhere along the way. I didn't really know. I didn't care.

When I got to the other side of Jade's horse, Jade was in the dirt with an agonized expression of obvious pain, a hand at her lower back in a half-sitting position. I slid to my knees beside her. "Jade! Are you okay? What happened?" I questioned, quickly, adrenaline and worry the only things in my veins at this point.

She audibly winced, keeping her eyes firmly closed. "It was Neptune's number four," she groaned. "I'm so dizzy—I can't open my eyes or I'm gonna throw up."

"It's okay, you don't have to. Just take deep breaths, okay?" I encouraged, gently rubbing my hand in a pattern across her shoulder blade.

The rest of the team was right behind me and Coach Daniels, along with the ref and Jade's parents, were running over to us from the barn entrance area. Jade was groaning, whimpering as she tried readjusting her position to relieve the pressure. "Lean on me," I said, dropping my butt onto the dirt, edging myself closer to her right hip. "You'll feel better."

She winced, but leaned into my front, just as the others were arriving. "Is she okay?" Daniels asked, kneeling on the other side of her. I promptly shook my head.

"It hurts...it hurts so bad," Jade mumbled, in another whimper.

"It's okay, Jade, we're going to get you to the hospital, alright?" Daniels assured, trying not to sound stressed. With Jade's parents breathing down her neck, I could understand her slight agitation. Worried parents often made it hard to get close and treat injuries or do what needed to be done. They got in the way—not knowing what to do with themselves. Jade's parents looked worried, but they moved back when asked to by Coach Daniels.

Daniels looked at each of us team members in turn as she spoke, "There's an ambulance on the way, it should be here momentarily. Everyone stay calm, okay? For Jade."

We all nodded, but I was already past panicking. The adrenaline had drained. It left behind the worry, but I could manage it enough to suppress it, holding a limp and in pain Jade Turner in my arms. She gripped tightly to my bare forearm with her glove clad hand. I thought for a second that she might stop the circulation to my hand. But as promised, the ambulance arrived not long later, and EMTs rushed in with a back board and first aid bag.

This was always difficult. Losing a teammate to injury, for however long, was difficult. But the most difficult thing when when you watched it happen, or you sat through the pain afterward. It was rattling. The EMTs got Jade on the back board with a neck brace and started taking her out to the ambulance. The coaches and the referee called off the rest of the period as Jade was carried away. Lewis and Jessie volunteered to take care of our horses.

I think they did it because they knew I cared more about Jade's well being in that moment than either of them did combined. Jade was one of my only true friends. The only true friend that was female—the only one I could talk to about literally anything. I can't get that specific with Jughead when it came to girl things. We'd secretly agreed to keep those kinds of things to ourselves early on. Jade _loved_ girl talk—lived for it, more like.

I'd trailed not far behind Jade's parents, who were following the EMTs, when a hand caught my wrist just before I could enter the barn. I whirled, only to be met with a worried look from Jughead. "Hey- is she gonna be okay?" he asked.

My shoulders shrugged up, "I don't know for sure. Maybe."

I tried glancing over his shoulder at the bleachers. Anywhere near that side of the arena. Sweet Pea was nowhere in sight. My mind was already beyond stressed, but his absence only made it worse. Did he not come at all? Did he come, and slip out during the chaos? With a heavy sigh, I dug out my cell phone. "Walk me to the hospital?" I asked, looking up at Jug.

"Yeah, sure," he nodded.

We headed through the barn together, out the other side to the parking lot. I'd sent Sweet Pea a text. Something short, asking where he was. But he didn't reply. I kept my hopes up though, the whole walk to the hospital, even sending another one in case he just hadn't gotten the first one. Jughead and I sat in the waiting room.

Jade's parents were back in a room somewhere with her, so there was no way to ask how she was doing. So we waited. It was nice to have someone to wait with. But I had my heart set on another brooding loner that—apparently—didn't know how to use a cell phone. Or was just too busy to be bothered with me being silly. Sweet Pea was probably with the Serpents, doing something illegal. Where else would he be? Obviously I'm not important enough to even text back.

It was odd behavior, but I hadn't been with him long enough to know for sure what was normal. So I slouched back in my chair, my phone silent in my lap as I folded my arms. Jughead sat beside me, his forearms on his knees. He glanced over at me as I moved. "I'm sure she'll be fine," he tried to reassure me, thinking that was the reason I was agitated.

All I could do was nod, plaster on a fake closed-mouthed smile. "Yeah. You're right. I'm just a little jittery."

"Did you tell Ben you were here?" he inquired, sitting upright.

"I texted him. He said he was on his way here from the house."

Ben was supposed to be packing for an out of town trip on business. His flight was scheduled to leave early tomorrow morning, and then he would return in exactly six days. It was going to be a week of freedom and liberation. But I had a sick feeling in my gut that it had been ruined before it'd even begun. It didn't take long for Ben to show, carrying a limp Cash on his hip. "She fell asleep in the car," he explained, walking into the waiting room.

Instinctively, I stood and walked over to him. I carefully peeled my sister off his side and she clung to me in her unconsciousness. "Any word?" Ben asked, sounding a bit hopeful. Jughead stood as I shook my head, and he came to stand beside me, gently placing a hand on Cash's shoulder in an absentminded gesture. "We've only been here for ten minutes," Jughead reasoned. "I'm sure we'll hear something soon."

I wished I could be so optimistic—even if he was only saying it to make me calm down. Ben rested his hands on his hips with a bit of a sigh. "I'm just glad you weren't hurt as well," he told me. It was like he actually meant it. But the words held nothing for me. I sat down and positioned Cash in my lap. "I was supposed to leave tomorrow morning, but I can stay longer if-"

"No- that's okay. I'm fine," I shook my head, quick to speak.

He was reluctant, but agreed, taking a seat in the row of chairs opposite me. Jughead dropped into the chair beside me and I rested my head on his shoulder with a huff of a sigh. This was going to be a long night. Might as well get comfortable and prepare for a long wait. But I checked my phone one more time, just in case. Nothing. Where were you Sweet Pea?


	8. 8: Mouth Shut

It was just after ten when Jade's mother came to the waiting room and filled us in. I didn't expect her to, but she knew Jade and I were close. I supposed that was enough for the information we got. She said I could see her in the morning because Jade needed to rest. It was understandable, considering the circumstances. Ben drove us all home. Jughead opted to crash on the love seat in my room. Cash was already zonked out since before she entered the hospital.

I carried her small frame up the stair case—against the wishes of my aching arms—and into her bedroom, gently laying her down on top of her bed. I wriggled off her shoes and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. She snuggled in a bit but was so out of it she barely moved. It was hard sometimes—knowing Cash was the only real family I had left. Feeling the weight of it was probably what made me so bitter. And a good liar.

But if you lie for the sake of someone you love, someone young and innocent that can't truly defend themselves, are you really that bad? I gave up trying to discern it months ago. Doing what you have to do for family was what mattered most, not the opinions of those who have no say in your life. That's what I told myself. It was only affirmed every time I looked at Cash. My fingertips brushed her bangs aside as I bent down, placing a kiss to her small forehead.

Then I tip toed out of the room, closing the door behind me. I could breathe once she was in there. I didn't have to worry about waking her up now. So I moved onto the next order of business—getting a blanket from the hall closet downstairs for Jug. He stood at the base of the stairs, glancing up as soon as my feet hit the steps. I gave a small smile. "She's asleep. I'll grab a blanket and then you can camp out," I said, just before passing him.

The hall closet was situated between the kitchen and the laundry room around the corner of the stairs. It looked like quite a large house from the outside, but the layout made it incredibly small on the inside. Ben wasn't too keen on anyone staying over that wasn't female—and even that was stretching it. He made sure to comment on his disapproval of a Jughead sleepover as I lead the way up the stairs, Jughead trailing just behind.

"We have rules, remember? No boys in the house past curfew," Ben tried, exasperated.

I rolled my eyes, turning to see him at the top of the stairs as Jughead passed me, slipping into my bedroom to avoid the argument sure to ensue. "He's not a 'boy'. He's Jughead," I pointed out, neutrally as possible. "We've been having sleepovers since we were seven. _Trust_ me, we passed the curiosity stage years ago."

Ben didn't waver. "You know that doesn't help your case, right?"

"What do you want me to do, Ben? Have him sleep on the front porch?"

His shoulders dropped as he gave me a look. I knew in that moment i'd won. So I turned and headed into the bedroom, closing the door and locking it behind me. Jughead was stretched out across the width of my bed on his back, his arms folded beneath his head. "Love what you've done with the place," he commented, sarcastically.

I huffed a humorless chuckle and chucked the blanket at him, walking over to the love seat below the window. "It was a last minute decision."

"Clearly," he sat up, glancing around. "It's very...grunge aesthetic."

I rounded up the pillows on the love seat and took them to the closet. After chucking them in, I went to my bed. There was one pillow I always let Jughead use when he stayed over. That one pillow was forever known as my _Jughead pillow_ as of four years ago. Even though I never told Jughead that's what it was called. He just knew it was the lifeless sack of feathers he got stuck with every night he stayed over. I grabbed it out from under another pillow and shoved it into his lap.

But he wasn't paying attention. His eyes were straight ahead, aimed across the room. He jutted his chin, gesturing that way. "That his? Your _Serpent_ boyfriend?"

My eyes narrowed a fraction, then followed his line of sight. They landed on my Serpent jacket. It was still hanging on the back of my office chair. I could feel Jughead's eyes on me, watching for a reaction. Waiting for me to say yes. But I only sighed heavily and marched over to the chair. My fingers gripped the leather, yanked it up, and tossed it into the closet with the couch pillows.

When I turned to face the bed, Jughead looked like he'd seen a ghost. He began to shake his head slowly. "No…Diana, _no_ ," he sounded scared but, more prominently, he sounded concerned. "That isn't his is it? It's _yours_?!"

"Jughead-" I exhaled.

"What else have you lied to me about?" he questioned, jetting up from the bed.

I folded my arms over my middle. "Jug! I'm trying to protect you. You, and Cash."

"Just tell me. Right now- tell me everything," Jughead practically demanded, now edging on the side of angry. "Don't you dare leave a single thing out, Diana, or I swear-"

He stopped himself short of whatever he was about to say. Probably thinking better of it. But, at the time, I didn't see it that way. His words only made me angry. Both of us were fuming—each for good reason. I tried to keep my voice down as I began speaking. "My father was a South Side Serpent. And, you know me—world's biggest Daddy's Girl. I was into whatever he was into. He was the second in command until he died. He was like Serpent royalty. There was a lot of pressure to follow in his footsteps."

"So you became a Serpent because people pressured you into it?" Jughead looked at me skeptically.

I shook my head. "No. I did it because I wanted to. Because I wanted to be like my dad. He was my hero, Jug. I only joined a year before he died. But I passed initiation with flying colors, got my Serpent tattoo, and wore my jacket every day."

Jughead was sitting on the tall chest at the end of my bed. His eyebrows shot up. "You have a tattoo?" he asked, in disbelief. Then, ruefully, he added, "Tell me you're joking." All I could do was shake my head, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth with my teeth. This was the most adrenaline inducing conversation I'd had in a long time. My hands were shaking with anxiety of his every reaction. I tugged up my Polo shirt from the waist of my breeches, pushing down my belt an inch.

As the tattoo became visible, his eyes drifted down my side, stopping on it. And in that moment—for the first time in my entire life—I couldn't tell what Jughead Jones was thinking. My mind was spiraling, trying to rush an explanation, trying to come up with something to say that would change all of this. "Jughead, I promise I kept this from you for good reason," I said, as if that would somehow make it better. "I didn't want to get you involved. You're my best friend."

"Is everything else about you a lie, too?" he asked, his voice quiet but still angered.

"No. I'm still me," I exhaled and took the steps needed to cross the room, sitting on the open space atop the chest next to him. "I had to lie to you—to keep up this good girl act. If Ben had decided I wasn't worth adopting because of my Serpent activities, I would never have seen my sister again. If you had the chance, wouldn't you have chosen to go with Jellybean?"

Jughead turned his head, giving me a look. But he seemed much calmer now. Now that I've pointed out we were exactly the same. "That's completely different."

"Yeah, because you didn't have a choice. _I_ did. I chose my sister...but that meant lying to you—and I'm really sorry, Jug. For lying, for hurting you. All of it. Please forgive me."

He sighed, turning his head to face forward for a quiet moment. In all my worries about Jughead's safety, the possibility of losing him—I never once thought that I could be the reason I lose him. But now that it was almost real, I felt sick to my stomach. I held my breath as his lips parted, waiting for him speak. "I forgive you," he nodded once, turning to see me again. "Doesn't mean I like what you're doing, though. You're in a biker gang and you don't even own a motorcycle. How does that _work_?"

I laughed a little at his attempt at sarcasm, and he laughed a little, too. But I felt like crying. I'd thrown my arms around his neck before I could. "I love you, Juggie."

"I love you, too, Diana. But I'm afraid I have a secret to share, too. And you're not gonna like it."

As I pulled away, my eyebrows furrowed. "What is it, Jughead?"

"It's about Archie. Since we're in the sharing mood, I think this is as good a time as any," he sighed heavily, obviously reluctant to start whatever conversation was about to ensue. "Diana, Archie's been...cheating on you. While you guys were dating, I mean."

My head snapped back in a recoil as my features displayed confusion. "Um...excuse me? With _who_?"

"Ms. Grundy."

"The music teacher?!"

He sighed, "I know I should've told you-"

"How long?" pure anger was the strongest emotion in my veins, clouded any and all sad thoughts I had moments ago. When Jughead didn't respond immediately, I spoke more forcefully. " _How long_ , Juggie?!"

"Since summer," he admitted.

As if my night could not have gotten worse. Now I knew just what caused Archie to stray—and it wasn't Veronica. It was our own music teacher. She was most likely twice his age, but I guessed there was something alluring about sagging breasts and gray hairs. Archie Andrews made it back on my list. And his morning was going to be a lot worse than my night.

* * *

I'd set my alarm for an hour earlier than usual for the soul purpose of getting to the shower first. It worked. I threw off the covers, breaking out my skin in goosebumps from the cool air of the room. Braving the cold was worth it, though. At least, that's what I told myself, forcing myself further out of bed. My feet drug themselves across the carpet toward the bathroom. It was hard not to laugh on the way there. Jughead was nearly completely beneath his blanket.

His face pressed into the pillow, hair strewn upward like a fountain of black, and his mismatching-sock-covered feet stuck out the end by several inches. I just shook my head and kept walking. I went into the bathroom and flipped on the light. My appearance almost looked as laughable as Jughead's. I nabbed my cell phone from off the charger to the left of the sink. It lit up with various social media notifications. But no messages.

Taking yet another stab in the dark, I sent Sweet Pea another text. Then I set my phone down and started stripping. I didn't have much time to shower before Jughead woke up. It's not that Jughead hadn't seen me naked, it just made it easier if he wanted to shower after me. That way neither of us were late. And I didn't have to share my sink and mirror. My body was covered in a thin layer of dried sweat and dirt, thanks to not showering last night.

But I scrubbed it off under the hottest water I could stand. Then I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped out. Securing the towel tightly, I pattered into the bedroom to my closet. A groan sounded behind me, followed by the groggy voice of Jughead. "What time is it?" he asked. "Why do I feel like I slept in?"

I chuckled, "You didn't sleep in, I got up early. Shower's yours."

My hands skimmed through the clothes hanging up, but nothing was striking me. Nothing felt like the right thing to wear. That's because it all belonged to North side Diana. When it hit me is the moment I turned around to face my tall standing dresser. The dresser is where I stored everything South side when I moved in. "Hey, can you help me put up fliers for the Drive-In at school?" Jughead asked, from the bedroom.

"Sure," I agreed, bobbing my head.

He made an odd groaning sound, and I glanced over just as he finished stretching, finally standing up. "Thanks. I'm gonna get my DNA _all_ over your shower."

"Go for it, buddy."

I smiled at him as he disappeared into the bathroom, then I looked back down at my open dresser drawer. My hands dug through and examined bits of all four drawers. I'd set out a few options. But only a couple items really stuck out to me. After a while, I finally decided on an outfit. Black denim shorts, dark purple tights, a gray t-shirt, and my dark red Doc Martens. It wasn't as outrageous as the outfit i'd worn to the Wyrm nights ago.

But it was a step in that direction. Once I was dressed, I checked my cell phone as I brushed my teeth. No new messages. I'm sure my face showed through some kind of indicator of my thoughts in that moment. The confusion, the anger, the worry. Just then, the water in the shower turned off, and I quickly put my phone on the counter. Returning to brushing and spitting like I hadn't just felt a chill in my spine. Maybe, just maybe, it was over?

Was this Sweet Pea's way of breaking up with me? What kind of loser doesn't even say anything? Over text? Bad. Over silence? The lowest of the lowest. Just ignoring a girl until she gets the point? What kind of strategy was that? I was washing out my mouth when Jughead climbed out of the shower. "You okay…?" he asked, pausing after pulling on a towel.

"Fine. Just guy trouble. What else is going on in my life lately?"

I'd laughed, made it sound like a joke. And he bought it. But I was hurting. I didn't know just how much yet. Or how much it was about to get worse. Not until I walked into school with a handful of Drive-In fliers and the first person I saw was Archie Andrews. Avoiding him, I split from Jughead and headed toward the back half of the school. "Divide and conquer," I'd said, before ditching my best friend to avoid my ex.

Surprisingly enough, the only thing catching eyes was my camouflage backpack. One girl asked where I got it and I had to tell her it was from a shop on the South side. I'd said that it was cheaper to shop down there and I had been pressed for cash. She said something about needing to check out the shop before leaving me to continuing taping up fliers for Jughead. It was a pointless endeavor, trying to save the Drive-In.

But it was a special place to Jughead. I felt a small thing for it, but nothing big enough to do all this. After I'd covered half of the back interior of Riverdale High, I made it to the lounge, where I heard two distinct voices. One feminine, one male. When I walked in I knew I would regret it. But I kept moving. Sure enough, it was Kevin and Veronica. They both looked up at me. Kevin with a bit of disapproval, Veronica with regret.

"Veronica. Do you have a second?" I asked, neutrally.

She looked surprised, but nodded once. "Yeah…?"

I stepped over to the first available seat—on top of the small coffee table in front of the chair she sat on and the whole couch Kevin occupied. With a deep inhalation of breath, I started talking. "Look...Archie treated me terribly because he had feelings for someone else. Turns out, that someone wasn't you. My aggression toward you was drastically misplaced. I'm sorry, Veronica."

Veronica sat in stunned silence. Kevin looked just as much in shock, but his shifty eyes darted back and forth between us as to not miss any action. Typical Kevin. Veronica slowly started to nod her head, sitting up a bit in her seat. "All is forgiven," she decided. Pausing, she added, "As long as all is forgiven on your end?"

I nodded, "All is...forgiven."

"Great. We were just talking about going to the Drive-In on closing night. Want to tag along?" she offered, hiking up a shoulder and giving me a mischievous expression.

"Um..." I thought for a second, adding times up in my head. But I knew—what with Sweet Pea not answering my texts—I had nothing better to do. "Sure. That sounds fun."

"Another day, another hag," Kevin sighed.

"Speaking of hags," Cheryl stepped up beside the three us suddenly, appearing out of thin air. "Veronica. It's so devastating to me that your mother has to sink to such unspeakable lows just to keep those knock-off Hermes bags on your arm. What's next? Selling her hair extensions?"

I gave Cheryl a 'what for?' look, but Veronica replied before I could. "My mom's a waitress, Cheryl, not Fantine. And your faux concern reeks of ulterior motive. What is it?" she demanded.

"Only to remind you of your place in this school, nay, the town's social hierarchy."

"Threatened much? Don't worry, you may be a stock character from a nineties teen movie, but i'm not," Veronica replied, standing up from her chair. She took a step toward Cheryl. "And what does any of this have to do with my mom being a waitress?"

Cheryl looked triumphant as I stood as well, her eyes dead set on Veronica. "Just that I saw her talking to a South Side Serpent last night, in the alley behind Pop's. They were having an extremely heated, intimate discussion. See for yourself."

She pulled out her cell phone as Kevin came up behind me and Veronica. On the phone screen as Cheryl turned it our way was a close up photo of Hermione Lodge talking to an older man in leather. But as Veronica zoomed out, staring in disbelief, I recognized that Serpent. It was FP. Cheryl smiled and whisked herself away, along with the photo. I was too stunned to move, too confused to speak.

"Who or what is a South Side Serpent?" Veronica asked, turning to face me and Kevin.

"It's a biker gang on the South Side," I said, with a rueful sigh.

"Thankfully they stay there," Kevin added. "Because they're sorta dangerous. Drug dealers and petty thieves."

I fought to keep from rolling my eyes. Serpents don't deal drugs. FP makes sure of that. But Veronica's next question was exactly what I was wondering myself. "So what was my mother doing with one of them?" she questioned, to no one in particular.

"I lived on the South Side for a while, I have a few contacts..." I started, before I knew what I was saying. "What me to bust some heads? Knock loose some answers?"

Both of them look surprised. But Veronica seemed incredibly thankful. "Yes, thank you. That would be great," she said. It was a bad idea, but it was the best way of excusing myself from the conversation without looking suspicious. I was dialing FP's trailer before I'd left the lounge completely. I listened to it ring as I walked the hall. And then he answered.


	9. 9: Castaway

"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" FP asked, with a light-hearted, yet somehow tired voice. "You know, _learning_ something?"

"I have twenty minutes until Algebra—my first class, by the way. You have some explaining to do."

"Do I? Well...if you could enlighten me as to what about-"

I rolled my eyes. "Don't play dumb with me. What business does a South Side Serpent have with Hermione Lodge? On the North side, no less."

Up ahead in the hall, Archie was walking my way. So I ducked left into the girls' locker room before he could notice me. Yes, this was child's play. Running for cover from the big bad wolf. But I didn't care. Knowing what I know, I could not run into Archie. It would only turn into a verbal fist fight in front of half the student body.

FP was saying something on the other end but I missed it due to my theatrics. I took a deep breath and asked him to repeat it. "I don't know what you're talking about," he reiterated. I may not have been a Jones, but I didn't need to be to know when FP and Jughead were lying to me. This was one of those times. I could feel it in my bones.

"Will you _stop_? Are you in bed with Hiram Lodge or not, FP?" I demanded the answer.

He sighed heavily on the other end, followed by silence. "It's just some unfinished business," he finally answered. "We were just settling debts so we could part ways. Okay? The Serpents are Lodge free after the night is over. You don't need to worry about it, Kid."

The bell sounded abruptly, and I sighed. "I hope you know I'm only taking that answer because I'm late for class."

"Wouldn't expect anything less."

I ended my side of the call and sprinted to the Algebra classroom. Once again being tardy did not harm me in any way. Especially considering it was only in one class. And it only started recently. Since I started seeing Sweet Pea two weeks ago. It made me think of him, that comparison of time. It made me wonder what was truly happening to us. Or if there even was an 'us' to be worried about. Maybe I'd taken it all too seriously?

Maybe I was just a bit of fun for him—but didn't I deserve to know? Didn't I deserve a text back telling me we're done? Maybe I didn't. Maybe I truly was the reason Sweet Pea stopped loving me. Maybe I was truly the reason Archie never really loved me at all. Algebra was the first time Archie and I were within three feet of each other all day. All week, even. When it was over, I grabbed his arm and asked if we could talk.

It would mean skipping English, but he didn't seem to mind, seeing as he agreed. Every muscle in me cried against it. Against seeing him, talking to him. But I needed this. I needed some kind of closure so I could focus on my next falling apart relationship. Archie followed me outside, to the bleachers at the football field. "What do you wanna talk about?" he asked, curiously. I hopped up onto the first level of bleachers, sitting down on the second.

He stopped walking, turning to face me. "I need you to answer me honestly, Archie," I said, to which he nodded silently. "Why didn't you just break up with me when you started whatever is going on between you and Ms. Grundy?"

"You know? Did Jughead tell you?" his eyes widened, eyebrows rising.

"How I found out seems kind of irrelevant. Answer the question."

Archie sighed heavily, glancing around before resting his hands on his hips. He shook his head and shrugged up his shoulders. "I don't know. I just...I didn't know how without hurting you."

As I listened to his decrepit explanation, I felt myself slipping further and further off the ledge of this bad idea. I had been hurting before. But this was worse. Before I fully registered my own emotions, a strangled sob came out of me, silencing Archie's monologue. "Do you not get it?" I asked, looking up at him, tears streaming my cheeks. "Why don't you understand, Archie? You were _cheating_ on me. All you did was hurt me."

His eyes were saddened, his shoulders slumped—but I looked him in the eye through my tears. If I was going to feel this pain, so was he. "I'm sorry, Diana. So, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I still love you—it's just in a different way now," he quickly spat out.

This was not working. It was a mistake. And I saw that the second he spoke those words. I rolled my watering eyes and slid off the bleacher. "You're pathetic," I shot right back at him, before walking back to the school entrance. Spending the whole walk drying my face. Just more tears Archie Andrews brought me. Just more pain I had to live with.

* * *

Another day had started—I was more than halfway through it—and there was still no word from Sweet Pea. I honestly gave up trying. Last night I texted him and told him that if he wanted to keep seeing me, he needed to text me back before school ended the next day. It was night. School was over. And so was whatever relationship I had with the South Side Serpent known as Sweet Pea.

I was on my way back to Kevin's truck from visiting Jughead in his 'office' on his last day of work, when I noticed the Serpents hanging around in the yards behind the truck's parking spot. A few sat but most stood, drinking, and making a ruckus. That's when I noticed Joaquin. At first, I couldn't believe it. But he was one of the only ones sitting and actually watching the movie. I slid my hands in my pockets and altered my course to swing wide.

As I walked up, I jutted my chin. "Hey. Joaquin. Long hiss, no slither."

He glanced up and a smirk spread across his lips. Obviously not expecting to see me here either. He held out his popcorn bucket. "One seat available, bottomless popcorn...you in?" he asked, shaking the bucket a little. I knew he meant sitting on his lap and eating out of his bucket by that choice in wording.

And I knew it wasn't because he was into me. Joaquin wasn't into any girl. But I shook my head, wrinkling my nose, regardless. "Can't, I'm here with some friends," I shrugged up one shoulder. "Have you seen Sweet Pea lately? I don't expect a geographical location, I just...need to know he's okay."

Joaquin stood with a sigh and tipped his head, guiding me a few steps away from the other Serpents with an arm across my lower back. His demeanor worried me. But not as much as the possibility of Sweet Pea not being okay. So I walked with him in slow steps and I listened. "Look...I'm not supposed to be telling you this. But he and FP had quite the fight a couple nights ago," he explained, in a hushed tone.

"What about?" I questioned, my eyebrows popping.

"All I got was the gist—FP was yelling at him to 'stay away from her', whoever 'her' is. It wasn't pretty, though. Pea's been all beat up about it."

My features steeled as my resolve hardened, but I tried not to let onto my distain. "Is FP here with you guys?"

"No, he didn't come tonight. He'll probably be at the Wyrm later, though."

"Thanks, Joaquin," I nodded once, lightly patting his upper arm.

I walked back to Kevin's truck, but I couldn't help but feel like he was lying to me. Not about the argument. Or what it was about. Just FP. I climbed into the back of the truck just as Kevin had gone to get a refill of popcorn. Cheryl was in the truck where I had been sitting. She scooted over as Veronica moved into Kevin's seat, and I crawled in.

My heart was racing, making it impossible to focus on the stupid movie. I came here to support Jughead, to support our place, and yet all I could think of was myself and my own problems. Typical Diana. Too full of herself to see past her own nose for two hours. I heard a sound. It was somewhere between a gasp and a small groan. I glanced right, my eyes landing on Veronica. She was looking over the side of the truck to her right.

And then I saw it. Joaquin _was_ lying. Because FP was walking around the backside of the concessions building with Hermione Lodge trailing behind him. "I'm getting a drink," I announced. I promptly slid off the end of the truck, my feet hitting the ground. And then I was walking. Walking fast. The adrenaline only fueled the shaking of my cold legs. Wearing tights beneath shorts at night was not a good idea.

At the time I had been thinking fashion, not practicality. Either way, I marched all the way across the Drive-In lot to the concessions building. I slinked along the side until I'd come to the corner, and stopped. I needed to wait for Hermione to leave if I was going to make my move. FP was holding a paper bag, wads of money half hanging out into his hand. It was impossible to hear just what they were arguing about next, but I would be filling Veronica in on this later.

They finished after a moment, with FP walking the other way. I hid as Hermione came back my way to resume her movie viewing. She missed me completely, just enough for me to slide around the corner she'd just come from. Then I jogged after FP. "Hey!" I shouted at him. It was not a nice greeting. I was angry—that much was evident in my voice.

FP stopped walking as my voice echoed off the building beside us, and he turned around. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out there with your friends?"

"Who do you think you are?" I questioned, stopping two feet from his position, my arms out at my sides in a questioning gesture. "I don't care about the Lodges—but FP…you told Sweet Pea not to see me anymore, didn't you?"

I looked at him with a saddened expression, my head tilting a fraction of an inch. Honestly, I was more disappointed than angry. He sighed, glancing around. I was bracing for it. Bracing for him to admit what he'd done. But he didn't. He told me to go back to my friends and turned to leave. "You son of a-" I began to spit.

But he faced me once more, interrupting with, "Hey! You watch your mouth."

"Or what, FP? What _will_ you do?" I questioned, raising my voice in frustration.

He leaned closer to me, taking a step toward me. "I'll tell Ben about your late night motorcycle rides and before school rendezvous. How about that? Hm? That threatening enough for you, Diana?" his eyes were slightly narrowed, his expression dead serious. "I don't have to explain _anything_ to you. You're a _child_."

In my anger, a stray tear fell from my eye. But I wore it with pride as I mustered up all the strength I had left in me to speak. "You took the _one_ thing that was making my life better away from me. I will _never_ forgive you for this. I hate you. I _hate_ you, FP. Is that what you wanted? Congratulations, because you got it."

As he leaned back on his heels, I started backing up. It flickered across his face—the realization of what he'd just done. Of what he'd _been_ doing. But he didn't say anything to stop me from leaving. I turned away as another tear fell, walking straight for the corner of the building. Halfway there, I twisted to shout bitterly over my shoulder, "I expected better from you." I only caught a glimpse of the expression it brought to his face afterward, but that was all I needed.

All I needed to tell myself it was worth it. This was the first voluntary loss. It would not be the last.

* * *

I was running late. There seemed to be no other way I could arrive to any event. This time, my tardiness was due to a wardrobe malfunction. I don't wear high heels too often. Mostly just three inch heeled boots. But these were five inch dress heels. They were the most annoying thing in the world. But I made it inside Thornhill and was directed to the memorial. It was due to start any minute as I finally dropped into the open chair to the left of Jughead.

With a heavy sigh, I readjusted the neckline of the black dress I wore. "Did I miss it?"

"Almost," Jughead huffed a small chuckle. "It's just about to start."

"Wonderful."

In a moment, heads began turning back toward the room entrance. It was curious, and I twisted in my seat to see. Cheryl was walking in. She wore the exact outfit from July fourth. I would know. I was there. What I didn't know, was why she kept it. She was the only one wearing white in all of Thornhill. Everyone's eyes followed her as she made her way to the podium, cutting off her parents from doing the same first.

She settled her shoulders and looked across the room of guests. "Welcome to Thornhill. Thank you for coming. If you'll kindly take your seats, I'd like to start the memorial with a few words," she said. Penelope began to get up but Clifford grabbed her arm, stopping her. Veronica whispered something across the aisle, but I missed it.

My mind was too encased in its own world. Replaying that day over and over. The last time anyone would see Jason Blossom alive. Anyone but his killer. We'd parked the car not far up from the bank of the river. As we got out, I recited the plan as it was said to me many nights before. We walked down to the boat and Jason promised he knew every detail already. He said he'd been rehearsing it in his mind for a long time. That's when he hugged me.

I wasn't expecting it. But I returned it immediately. "Be careful out there, okay?" I said, sniffling hard to hold back tears. "Tell Polly I'll watch out for Betty while she's gone." He hugged me tighter in a momentary gesture, before pulling away completely. He didn't look sad. He looked happy. Relieved. Why wouldn't he be? He was escaping Riverdale with the woman he loved. Cheryl's voice up at the podium brought me back to reality. It was a harsh snap, leaving me with an aching whiplash.

"The last time I saw Jason, I was wearing this dress. I know it's impossible, but I swear, when I put it on, it...feels like he's in the room with me," she said, gazing at Jason's picture beside her. "Even though we were twins, I used to demand my own birthday party. Until one year, out of the blue, Jason convinced me we had to combine them into one. It wasn't until years later I found out why. It was because no one wanted to come to mine. And Jason didn't want me to know. He protected me. Every single day. I wish, that day at the river, I had protected him."

Cheryl was crying. Her words were what got to me the most. Maybe if I hadn't encouraged Jason to pursue what made him happy, he wouldn't have been so adamant about leaving Riverdale? Maybe Polly wouldn't have been locked away? Maybe Cheryl wouldn't be crying at her twin brother's memorial? "I'm so sorry, Jay-Jay," she sobbed, putting a hand on the casket. "We failed you. All of us."

She dropped her head onto it, sobbing dramatically. I was almost to tears myself. But I was better at hiding them. I sniffled and pushed myself out of my chair. Something inside me moved me to go to Cheryl. Most likely, it was the shared guilt. She turned and threw her arms around me—almost tightly enough to break my neck from my shoulders. Over her shoulder I could see Penelope get up to the podium. "I think we'll adjourn to the Winter Salon for a light supper," she announced.

Penelope acted as though nothing said or done had affected her. Probably because it hasn't. She was the most heartless human being in the entire town of Riverdale. Maybe even this whole state. As everyone began filing out, Penelope came over to Cheryl and I, and I almost cringed. "Well, that was a lovely speech," she mused, lying through her teeth. "Cheryl, dear, come with me for a moment."

Cheryl pulled away from me, and I wanted to hold onto her. To tell her not to go. But I didn't have a choice. Cheryl gave my hand a reassuring squeeze before following Penelope through the crowds. Penelope grabbed Cheryl's arm and all niceness flew out the window as soon as they were out of the majority's sight. It made me want to track that woman down and slap her until she didn't get up. There was no way I was eating whatever food they were going to serve.

So, instead, I went just out front. I needed some fresh air to calm myself down. As I stood just before the long driveway, I dug my phone out of my clutch. My fingers slid open the lock screen. It was still on my string of messages to my snake emoji contact. It was mostly one sided, considering he hadn't sent me any text messages in four days. But I'd sent him another text message, the night of the last Drive-In, telling him I knew what FP had done.

I'd gotten my hopes up when I saw I had a message from him the next morning. But it was only two words— _I'm sorry_. My eyes read over them again as I took in a deep breath. This was getting ridiculous. Maybe it was time to go solo for a while? Just pretend like men do not exist and I have no interest in the thought of them? My life would be a lot simpler. But I knew it didn't work like that. I didn't know how long i'd been standing there.

But suddenly Betty rushed by with her father. And by rushed, I do mean rushed. They were in quite a hurry. Betty was dragging him along behind her by the wrist. It seemed urgent but I had no way of knowing what for. It reminded me of my promise to Polly. Sure, it didn't get passed along to her as I'd hoped. But I still told Jason I would look after Betty for Polly. And I was royally failing at that. I wasn't even trying. Jughead appeared at my side, and I rose an eyebrow, turning toward him. "What was all that about?" I asked.

"Well, we kind of...snooped around Jason's room a bit," he admitted, guiltily. My mouth fell open as my eyes narrowed, but he kept talking so that I couldn't scold him. "We ran into Grammy Blossom. Turns out Polly and Jason were engaged. Polly had the family ring and everything."

I tried not to let on to the fact that I already knew that piece of information. My arms folded loosely. "Jason didn't hide things in his room, so I'm not sure what you expected to find. But that was _really_ stupid, Jug. Penelope could have barged in and found you snooping. That woman is a snake."

"Something you two have in common?" he wore a sarcastic expression, one eyebrow loosely elevated.

With a hard scoff, my hand smacked hard against his upper arm, and he shrank away with a hissing sound. Like I'd just sprayed water at a disobedient cat. "Hey, what's going on out here?" Archie walked out of the house, smiling lightly at the odd looking scene of Jughead and I. "What have I told you two about resorting to physical violence to solve your problems?"

"Jughead? Violent? You'd be more likely to see Cheryl working for charity than Jug throwing the first punch," I patronized, turning my eyes into daggers and pointing them at Jughead.

Rubbing his upper arm, Jug bobbed his head. "Yeah...I deserved that."


	10. 10: So Cold

What surprised me about the days following Jason's memorial was the fact that I seemed to have more energy now that it was over. Like I'd taken a Red Bull in letting it go. Or because I was now focused on a new task. The plan now was to find Jason's killer and make sure Betty didn't get herself into trouble at the same time. It wouldn't be too hard, considering she was having her own investigation for the Blue & Gold, the school newspaper.

Jughead had told me about it days ago. But if I was going to follow through on both of my promises, I was going to have to stick myself in the middle of a Betty and Jughead sandwich. That didn't sound too appealing to the outside listener. Even though it was necessary. Before school, I found the Blue & Gold's office of sorts. I rapped my knuckles against the open door. The gesture seemed to startle Betty, who was sitting on the edge of a table behind the one Jughead sat at with his computer.

She looked to have been analyzing something on her cell phone when I interrupted. So I gestured to it as I walked in. "What are you up to?" I asked, letting my backpack slide off my right shoulder. Betty didn't answer at first. She seemed too startled to. But Jughead spoke up almost immediately, without a care.

"Looking for Polly," he said.

"You were friends with my sister, right?" Betty asked me, almost timidly.

I dropped my back pack onto the table behind Jughead's laptop. "Yeah. I mean, sort of. We were really only friends because of Jason," I answered, dropping into the chair in front of my back pack. My shoulders moved up in a loose shrug. "What do you wanna know?"

"Do you know where she is?" Betty asked, pushing off the table she sat on top of.

I'd been afraid she would ask me eventually. Alice didn't know I'd snooped through her house when I'd come over to hang out with Betty. She didn't know I knew her darkest secret. My hesitation to answer caused Jughead to glance up, his fingers frozen as they hovered above the keyboard. "Do you?" he asked, in surprise.

"I was doing a bit of an investigation of my own, weeks ago. We may not have been the closest of friends but I would have known if Polly was suicidal," I squinted in an expression. I reached for my back pack and opened the flap, digging a hand inside. "What sealed it for me, is that they didn't send her to a mental institution or a rehab center. You know—a place where a suicidal person can take meds and actually get better? Here."

I pulled out the folded and somewhat crinkled sheet i'd printed from Alice's home computer and held it out toward Jughead. He snatched it, but Betty came over behind him to scan it over his shoulder. "Sisters of Quiet Mercy?" Betty asked, her eyebrows knitting together. "What is that?"

"It's a home for troubled teens," I leaned back in my seat.

"Wait a second. That's my mom's email address on the header," Betty looked up from the paper at me in shock. "Did you get this from my mom's computer?"

A small smile came to my face as I thought about rubbing it in Alice's face. If only she knew. I held up a finger to my lips in a shushing motion and she looked back down at the paper, still quite stuck in her shock and disbelief. It seemed to be clicking though, when exactly I had time to get my hands on it.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Jughead asked, looking up at me.

"What was I _supposed_ to do with that information?" I countered, loosely folding my arms. "I figured I would tell Betty when she was ready—and she is. _Now_."

Betty stood up straight. "So...what do _you_ want out of this? I mean, why are you here?"

I sat up and closed my bag. "I want to help find Polly. I owe it to Jason to make sure she's alright. Is that okay with you guys?"

It was a genuine question. If Betty didn't want me helping their investigation, I would just start my own. But I didn't want to encroach on something exclusively reserved for blondes and social outcasts. There was a pause. Betty looked down at Jughead, Jughead looked up at Betty, and they both shrugged. Turning back to me, Jughead said, "You're in."

* * *

We'd skipped out after lunch and taken a bus to Sisters of Quiet Mercy. It looked like a grungy concrete dungeon from the outside. it was disgusting. "Hey. Don't just a home for trouble youths by its facade, right?" Jughead quipped, somewhat quietly. Betty readjusted her pony tail as I gave Jughead a look. He shrugged, with an expression that said he didn't know what else to say, causing me to roll my eyes.

Betty started for the building without a word, and Jughead and I quickly followed. The inside didn't look much better than the outside. Lack of lighting, pale walls, old tile flooring. It was pitiful. Why would anyone send their child there? We followed Betty up to the small front desk. A woman sat behind it. But the desk looked more like an old movie theater ticket booth. Then it _really_ felt like a prison.

"Hi. My name is Elizabeth Cooper," Betty said. "I'm here to see my sister, Polly?"

"May I see some identification?" the woman asked, sitting forward.

Betty dug out her student ID and handed it to the woman. After one look, the older woman slid forward a clipboard. "Sign in please," she instructed. "He'll have to wait." She was refereing to Jughead. At that, I was actually glad I decided to go for Betty's sake. After Betty signed in, I signed my name, too. Then the woman lead us through the dungeony hallways. I'd never been claustrophobic in my entire life. But being inside that building made me feel odd things.

"Polly's room is right this way," the woman said. "Though, right now it's silent reflection time. She usually spends that time in the Garden of Deliverance."

Betty stopped for a second at Polly's room, glancing in. Stepping over to her, I put my hand on her shoulder, and she gave me a small, pouty smile. And I understood. Not everything. I'd never had a family member committed before. But I have lost people. Thinking back on it made me feel exactly how Betty was feeling right then. We continued on.

The woman lead us to the back of the building and outside through a large set of open doors. The vast area of grass and trees, with small areas of sporadic flowers, was truly beautiful. If only they could have brought some of that _inside_ the building. The woman stopped once we'd walked a bit, and she gestured a hand out as she looked to us. Betty nodded in thanks and took my wrist and she continued to walk. Maybe it was for support?

Maybe it was for nothing at all? Either way, I stayed with Betty all the way into the Garden of Deliverance. It was an exceptionally small garden. The only blonde in it had to be Polly. She stood with her back to us, messing with some tall roses. Betty stopped walking, so I did, too. "Polly?" Betty's voice was small, but hopeful.

The blonde turned around. It was Polly. She looked surprised to see any familiar face—let alone two. "Betty? Diana?"

She rushed toward us and Betty dropped my hand to hug her sister. Normally I wasn't the type to feel all mushy at a family reunion. If anything, I was the type to elbow someone and shout for them to get over it. But this was different. I helped put Polly here. I may not have signed the papers or paid the residency, but my actions lead to this. My encouragement to 'follow their dreams' brought Jason to his death and Polly to Quiet Mercy.

When Polly pulled away from Betty, both Betty and I noticed a large swell in Polly's stomach. I wasn't expecting that. Jason never mentioned any kind of pregnancy. Neither did Polly. I guessed Jason thought I didn't need to know. "Polly...you're..." Betty was at a loss for words. And, frankly, so was I. "...with Jason's..."

"Please be happy for me," Polly practically begged, glancing quickly between Betty and me.

"We are," Betty quickly assured. "I'm just...so sorry I didn't come sooner. I wanted to but mom and dad- they stopped-"

Polly quickly interrupted, "What did they tell you? That I was on drugs? Alcohol?"

"They said you were sick. That you tried to hurt yourself," Betty answered.

"And they told me no one wanted to come and see me, which I knew was a lie," Polly sighed lightly. Then her eyes flickered to me, still standing a few feet back from them. I expected her to react differently than she did. I expected her to be angry. To resent me. I'd failed. But instead, she walked to me and put her arms around me in a hug. "I'm so happy to see you, too, Diana. Don't think I forgot about you."

I hugged her back. And finally, I cried. Burying my face in the shoulder of her cardigan. It had been eating at me for weeks—the guilt I had for even going through with the plan to stage Jason's death. That, mixed with the sadness of losing Jason and the regret of being apart of the reason Polly ended up here, finally flooded me. Everything flooded me. Archie cheating on me, Ben non-stop controlling my life, having to lie to Jughead, losing Sweet Pea, FP betraying me.

The list was endless, it seemed. Polly ran her hand up and down my back soothingly. "It's okay, Diana. It's not your fault. It's my mom and dad—not you," she tried to assure me, with a sickly sweet voice. It was drenched in sweetness but it was somehow comforting. "Don't blame yourself."

I nodded a little, pulling away. My wrists rubbed at my cheeks. "I'm sorry. I've been through a lot lately. It's just... _really_ good to see you, Polly."

"What's happened?" Polly asked, curiously, intrigued.

Polly always did have a soft spot for listening to my problems. She sat through almost two hours of me venting one night. I'd never given her enough credit for that. "I, um...I'm not dating Archie anymore," I said, slowly. She looked a little saddened at that, sympathetic. "I met someone else, though. But I think I'm going through a Polly and Jason right now."

I chuckled a little to ease myself out of my emotional funk. Polly chuckled a bit, too. "Diana, I'm going to tell you what you told me. Don't listen to them—whoever's telling you not to. If he makes you happy...just be with him," she said, with a soft certainty.

Betty looked in awe of her sister, but she also seemed intrigued by the conversation's turn. I tried steering it away from me, asking about why she ended up in here. She told Betty and me all about why she was sent to live in here. Her parents. The Coopers and the Blossoms had a blood feud that burned hot enough to scramble an egg. When Jason and Polly started dating, and the Blossom's found out, they forced Jason to break up with Polly.

They didn't want their son being with a Cooper girl. Then she delved into some details of the plan on July fourth. That she was supposed to meet Jason on the other side of the river. But then she said that her mother had already found out, and she never made it out of the house that morning. Not for anything other than to be put in the back of a van and shipped to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. Her next words caused both Betty and I pause. "Have you talked to him? Does he know I'm here?"

"Who, Polly?" Betty asked, unsure.

"Jason," she replied, instantly. "If I give him a message, will you make sure he gets it? What does he think happened? He knows i'm here because of mom and dad, right?"

"Polly, you don't understand-" I quickly shook my head.

"I can fix this, guys, I know I can," Polly pressed. "You just have to help me get out of here. I'll go to meet meet him—at the car on the lost highway off of Route Forty. 'Once you pass the old maple syrup sign, then you'll know you're almost there'. See? I remember. I packed—we packed. We'll go to the farm just like we planned-"

"Polly, stop!" Polly quieted upon Betty's sudden outburst. "Jason, he's..."

She searched for the words, only causing Polly's eyes to sink further into worry. It was taking her too long. Someone had to say it. At least, that's what I told myself a split second before destroying Polly Cooper's world. "He's dead, Polly," I said, quickly. Polly's eyes immediately welled with tears as they moved to meet mine. And I instantly regretted saying anything at all.

"Young ladies, come with me," the older woman from before suddenly appeared beside me and Betty.

The woman looked slightly perturbed. But neither of us asked. We followed her back into the building, only for her to leave us in a small office looking room with only one window. She'd said to stay put. Though, neither Betty nor I liked that idea. Betty tried calling Jughead, hefting her phone into the sky by the window. "Anything?" I asked, sitting on top of the only table in the room.

She shook her head. "No signal."

Not a second after the words left her mouth, and the door whipped open. I twisted, only to find that Alice Cooper was our visitor. She closed the door behind her with an ever present scowl. "Mom, what are you doing here?" Betty questioned, almost venomous.

"I pay the sisters good money, you think they don't notify me when she gets a visitor? Or two?" at 'two', she turned her scowl on me. I scowled right back. "You're leaving now— _both_ of you."

She grabbed Betty's arm and Betty sighed, letting her mother drag her from the room. An orderly made sure I followed along with the Coopers. We were walking rather quickly through the hall. As we got to a fork in the road, Polly walked around the corner. She had been heading the other way, but stopped when she saw her mother. "Mom?"

"Polly..." Alice was speechless.

Polly walked closer. "Jason's dead, and you didn't tell me? And you kept me in _here_?!"

"Baby, it's for your own good," Alice promised.

Orderlies grabbed Polly, pulling her away from Alice. "Ugh! You always say that and it's true!" Polly shouted, crying in her frustration. "No- Betty!"

Betty rushed forward. She and Polly hugged tightly for a fleeting moment, clinging on to whatever pieces they had left of each other, and then Polly was ripped away by the orderlies and drug further down the hall away from us. "You're a witch, Alice Cooper," I looked right at Alice.

She looked to be in tears from the sight of her daughter. Her head turned toward me before I started leading myself out of the building, and I caught a glimpse of her surprised expression. Surprised that I had the nerve to speak in her presence, probably. But I didn't care. Thanks to Polly, I had my own advice to follow.

* * *

The crazy thing about mornings since Ben's flight out of Riverdale was Jughead's insane ways of waking me up when I slept past one snooze on my alarm. But that morning was different. My whole body was shaking violently, thrusting me out of a deep sleep. I woke with a startle. My body lurched up into a sitting position and Jughead recoiled to miss getting hit in the face. "What the...Jug, my alarm hasn't even gone off yet!" I protested, rubbing my eyes.

I sat up further, bringing my knees almost to my chest. Jughead shoved my phone in my face the second my hands moved. "This thing has been buzzing for _two hours_ , Diana!" he countered, agitated and groggy. His hair was the telltale sign of a lack of sleep. Bits were pressed to the side of his head, other strands were sticking straight up.

Sighing heavily, I apologized, snatching my phone from his hand. He immediately walked back over to the love seat and literally threw his weight into it. Then he pulled the blanket up over him and buried his face into the back cushion. I rolled my eyes. Mostly because they were still trying to wake up. Then I looked down at my phone. Jughead was right—it must have been going off for a while, what with half a dozen missed calls.

They were all from one number. It was FP's trailer. Why FP would be calling me so many times at five o'clock in the morning was beyond my half-sleep mind's comprehension. But, against my better judgment, I pushed back the blanket and climbed up from the warmth of my comforter. Bumps rushed up my arms and I folded them close to my body to keep myself somewhat warm as I took my phone downstairs. It was too early for Cash to be awake, thankfully.

So I sat on the living room couch and took a deep breath, then I dialed FP's trailer. I held the phone up to my ear as it rang. My hand rubbed at my right eye. This was too early to be dealing with FP—or Serpent—garbage. If this was an apology, it could've waited. It _should've_ waited. But as soon as I heard FP's voice come through the speaker, I knew something was wrong. "Why are you calling me so early?" I questioned, demanding the answer.

"Some of the boys got into a pretty big fight last night. Your boy's all banged up—he's passed out on my couch. Thought you'd wanna be here when he woke up," FP answered, almost timidly.

I couldn't believe what he was saying. Any word of it. Or that he even spoke that whole sentence. If the goal was to keep me away from Sweet Pea, why would he tell me to come see him? It made no sense. But all my heart heard was that Sweet Pea was hurt and I needed to start moving. My body reacted instantly, getting up and hurrying to the stairs on my toes.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," I'd said, before hanging up the phone.

I'd run up the stairs and flung my door open so fast it hit the wall behind it. My feet carried me on air to the closet. I wasn't really thinking fashion or practicality. All I was thinking was _fast_. So I grabbed a sweat shirt and pulled it over my head, then traded out my pajama shorts for a pair of faded jeans. "Jug! Jughead! I've gotta go, can you walk Cash to school?" I asked, racing to sit on the bed in order to put on my sneakers.

Jughead was half asleep. But he rolled over, eyes tightly squeezed shut, and he replied, "Uh...yeah. But- where are you going?"

"Can't explain- call me if something happens!"

I'd thrown the words over my shoulder as I lurched up from my bed. There was just enough time to grab a pony tail holder on my way out of the room. My hands worked quickly to round up my hair as I ran to the door, then tighten up my hair into a high pony tail as I left the house. I at least remembered to slow down and lock the house back up before I left. But I didn't really leave. I flew.

My feet were moving faster than they ever had before down that sidewalk I ran every morning. It was a dead sprint through the neighborhood, through the early morning fog, through the dimly lit beginnings of a sunrise. I'm sure it looked pathetic. An extra shade of desperate. But I didn't care. I would have been gasping for air when I reached the Sunnyside Trailer Park on the other side of town if it weren't for my anxiety, all the adrenaline.

I was still in a half-run, following the familiar path to FP's trailer. I'd been there so many times that nothing that ever happened to me could possibly make me forget it. My feet hopped up the steps and my knuckles beat against FP's door. It opened a second later. FP looked at me with vague surprise. "Wow...that was fast," he remarked, with dry sarcasm. Then he pulled open the door a little more, stepping back, and I slipped inside.


	11. 11: Someone To You

Ignoring his comments had been an art form. And my mind was focused on one thing. Sure enough, just to the right of the door, on FP's couch, laid an unconscious Sweet Pea. His bare chest and abdomen shown many purple spots and puckered red scrapes. "What _happened_?" I asked, thrust into a state of disbelief.

I stepped over in front of the couch and lowered myself to sit on the very edge of it. Sweet Pea's head was turned toward the back of the couch, exposing a fresh looking cut on the side of his neck, just above his tattoo. FP sighed a bit heavily. "Got ticked off...went out and did somethin' stupid," he explained—sort of. "He asked me again to let him see you and I said no. So he got in a fight."

"You're unbelievable," I shook my head.

"Well, I try," he mumbled.

"Did you even _try_ to bandage this cut on his neck?" I questioned, brushing my fingertips against the skin around it.

It felt warm. Probably from his body trying to recuperate after what it had gone through last night. FP made a sound. "I'm no doctor."

"Then get me your first aid kit," I craned my neck to look up at him. "This is going to get infected. Unless, of course, you want a Serpent taken to the hospital with sepsis at the ripe age of fifteen."

It didn't take any more convincing for him to go to the back bedroom, leaving my sight—thankfully. There were so many emotions whirling around inside. Most prominently—anger. Followed quickly by concern. Absentmindedly, I reached up and pushed the hair in his face to the side a bit. It'd been almost a week since I'd seen him last. It was like breathing in a fresh breath after being locked in an air tight box for too long.

FP probably only called me because he felt guilty. Guilty that he let this happen, that he caused it. And he should feel guilty. None of this would have happened if he had just stayed out of it and minded his own business. After a short moment, FP returned with a small plastic box. It was white with a red cross on the top. "If you think you can do better," he said, holding it out to me. "Be my guest, kid."

With a slight scowl, I took the kit and opened it on my lap. FP wandered over to his dining table in the kitchen and dropped into a chair. I tried to focus on the task at hand. My fingers sifted through the minimal items inside the kit. I'd managed to find a packet of disinfectant-soaked Q-tips. Then I rounded up a couple small packets of triple-antibiotic ointment and a large enough bandage to cover the whole cut. It wasn't deep enough for stitches.

I wasn't a doctor, either. But I could tell that much. There were more than enough times when dad came home and needed mom to patch him up. I'd watched her almost every time. Sometimes, she would walk me through it. As a kind of morbid show-and-tell. I worked quickly to rip the packet of Q-tips and used one to clean the cut. My fingers touched the disinfectant to his injury carefully, gently. But, even so, his muscles instinctively jerked in his sleep.

It startled me even though I was expecting it. After a second, I gently dabbed the Q-tip across the cut and the immediate area around it. "Why'd you call me, FP?" I asked, raising my voice just enough to be heard across the table, as I began to tear open an ointment packet.

"I told you. Thought you'd wanna know," he answered.

" _Of course_ I'd want to know," I sent a short glare his way. "But that's _not_ why you called. You called because you know you messed up."

He snorted. "Yeah. Right. Just keep playing Medicine Woman and keep your thoughts to yourself."

I rolled my eyes, smearing the ointment across the wound. Then I set the packets on the coffee table beside me, along with the other torn packet wrappers and open first aid kit. With the free space, I scooted forward, getting close enough to see where specifically to place the bandage as I unwrapped it. It wasn't that I had never seen FP angry, or annoyed. Or anything but happy. I had seen FP as many things. But this was just childish.

He'd sunk to a whole knew low. If he hadn't, maybe Sweet Pea wouldn't be so beat up? That fight would've had no reason to happen. Of course, if you believe in fate, it probably would've happened either way—just for a different reason. Either way, I was not going to forgive him so easily. I freed the bandage from the packaging and placed it atop the cut. As my hands smoothed out the edges, in a split second, Sweet Pea sprung to life.

He inhaled sharply, his hand wrapping around my wrist faster than I could pull away. It startled me. And the tight grip on my wrist was sure to leave a bruise on my skin. But I spoke calmly, softly. "Sweet Pea! Hey- calm down. It's me," I said. His wild eyes softened to a much calmer shade of awareness as he exhaled, loosing his grip on my arm. He grimaced, his hand going straight across his ribs.

"Diana? What are you doing here?" he asked, leaning back against the cushion with a wince.

"FP called me," I set aside the bandage trash, putting it on the table with the rest of the used items. "Sweets...I missed you, too. But this really...you didn't have to get yourself hurt over me."

He shrugged a little. "I was angry. You said it was sexy."

"What good is it if I can't even see it?"

I couldn't fight the smile pulling at my lips. But it faded out as I reached over, gently sliding my hand onto his cheek. The bruises on his face clouded his tan skin. It made him look like a different person in this light. "I missed you," he admitted, his voice small, quiet. "I was going crazy not being able to see you. I couldn't take it anymore."

"You don't have to, yeah? I'm here now," I said, just as quietly, my thumb sliding across his broken open lower lip.

My heart ached. I didn't know if kissing him was such a good idea with his injuries. But he surprised me—leaning up a few inches, cupping my face with his hands, and pulling me the rest of the way to him. His broken and slightly swollen lips met mine in a way I hadn't expected, with a depth I hadn't expected. Open and inviting and hungry. But what stuck out to me the most was the longing in it. I could feel every day we didn't talk, every day we didn't see each other.

Every day we spent apart was in his kiss. My arms erupted in bumps beneath my thick sweat shirt, and I leaned closer, opening my lips to match his. He suddenly pulled back, swearing beneath a breathy sigh. And it came back to me, his physical state, and I instantly felt bad. "Lie back," I told him, suddenly overly aware of _everything_. "I'm sure FP has ice. Maybe some ibuprofen somewhere? I'll find it."

I made to get up, but his hands slid down to my upper arms, holding me in place. "I'm okay. Stay," he said, through a mild groan.

He knew he wasn't okay. I knew he wasn't okay. But we both tried to act like he was. After a few moments of staying put, I convinced him to let me get up. It was only to go to the kitchen. He was very adamant about that. So I stood and walked into the kitchen and dining room area. FP sat slumped in his chair, on his second beer. My eyes stayed straight ahead as I marched to the freezer. Sure enough, there was an ice pack.

I nabbed it from the cubby in the door and pushed it closed. Once again my eyes remained forward as I passed FP on the way back to the couch. The man was spiraling. But I'd learned not to interrupt his dates with a bottle years ago. So I kept walking and returned to the living room without a word in his direction. I got Sweet Pea situated with the ice pack across his ribs.

I sat on the couch cushion with my back against the arm rest, the back of his head against my chest, with one of my legs bent up and on the couch and the other draped off onto the floor. My fingers combed through his hair. It wasn't hard to tell he was dozing off. "Sleep, if you want," I encouraged, my voice soft and quiet so close to his ear. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

His head turned to the left a little, toward me. "Promise?"

"I promise."

* * *

I woke with a startle to the sound of a hollow thud. Apparently FP had just left. I tried to angle myself up a bit to see through the window above the back of the couch, but it felt as though I was being weighted down by an elephant. That's when I looked down. Sweet Pea was out to wind. But somehow I'd managed to slip down the arm rest onto the cushion more than before. His arms were draped around me, holding me in place, his face pressed to my neck.

It wasn't a bad place to be. It was actually quite comfortable, snuggled into a giant on a Dollar Store couch. So I let my arms remain around his shoulders, my fingers combing the hair at the back of his head, as I relaxed into the couch. I hadn't known how long i'd been sitting there. Or when I'd dozed off. But at least it was still daylight, based on the look of the lit up window. I just hoped Jughead wasn't at school looking for me, worrying.

If I knew Jughead, he wouldn't stop until he found me or contacted me if he thought something was wrong. Then he would get Archie involved. And, in doing so, get the entire gang involved. Then Kevin would petition to call his father to make sure I hadn't gotten arrested or brought to a hospital. Half the town would be out looking for me by nightfall. The buzz of my cell phone on the coffee table was faint, but I noticed it enough.

My eyes flicked down to Sweet Pea. He was asleep. I needed to move in a way that didn't wake him up. Why'd I have to put my phone so far away? I groaned a bit, readjusting myself to lean over, outstretching my arm. My fingers stretched as far as they could toward my buzzing phone. It was just barely not enough. I bit my lower lip to keep quiet as I readjusted again, trying to get a better angle. Finally, I reached my phone enough to pull it off the table.

I pulled it back to the couch with me as I sat upright, breathing a sigh of relief that I didn't disturb Sweet Pea. But something told me a train horn in his ear wouldn't even wake him up. I guess beating up people and getting beaten up were exhausting tasks for a young Serpent. My phone was lit up with a call from Jughead. Sighing, I answered, and held the phone to my ear. "Hey," I said, in a hushed tone.

"Hey? That's all you have to say?" Jughead questioned. "Where _are_ you, Diana? It's lunch time and you still haven't stepped foot inside the school. What happened this morning? Is it something with Jade?"

"Um...no. Boyfriend stuff."

" _Boyfriend_ stuff? I thought he was still ignoring you?"

I leaned back against the arm rest with an exhale, readjusting my arm to better hold the phone. "He was, but something came up. It was kind of an emergency. Everything's fine now, though," I tried to explain it without giving away too many details, or giving him my location.

Jughead sighed heavily on the other end. Alternate voices filtered through in quiet snippets and I knew he must've been on the phone at the lunch table with the others. "You mean an... _emergency_?" he asked, knowingly. "You know, with his after school group?"

"Maybe. Look, I'll be at Ben's later tonight. Can you walk Cash home from school?"

"Yeah. She was pretty confused this morning when you weren't there to braid her hair."

I smiled a little, "Did _you_ do it?"

There was a short pause, and I knew he was rolling his eyes. "Yes. She has the best braids this side of Sweetwater," he commented, stoically sarcastic. "You better be at Ben's tonight, or I'm going to track you down by giving Killer your bra."

"Don't you dare," my eyes narrowed. "Those things are expensive."

"Fine. Just be there. Okay?"

"I will, I promise. Thanks, Jug."

I ended my side of the call and leaned across the space between the coffee table and the couch, sliding my phone back on top of the wood. As I righted myself, Sweet Pea stirred. My muscles froze almost instantly in a complete stand-still. His arms tightened around my middle, his face adjusting to press his forehead against the right side of my neck.

Carefully, I put my arms back around him and settled into the couch. I couldn't imagine being at school right now. If I hadn't known about this, he would be bloody and beaten with no one but FP for company. He'd probably feel a lot worse. Especially considering how easy it was to take away the pain just by agreeing to get into this position. Agreeing to hold him. Agreeing to stay with him. Leaving him wasn't an option. Not even before his full body weight was crushing my chest cavity.

It did make it a little harder to breathe, but I endured it. Because I wouldn't want it any other way. We'd been together for such a short time. But it felt like he was mine. My responsibility. My choice. My bruised, incredibly tall and just as heavy South Side Serpent. Right there, on FP's couch, I made a pact with myself. To stop comparing this relationship to something else. To stop taking it for granted. To stop pretending it doesn't exist to other people I care about.

Sweet Pea deserved better than that. I deserved better than that. Because didn't I pride myself in his lack of resemblance to Archie? It tainted everything. But this was looking through different eyes, in much better lighting. He was mine because I wanted him to be. I wasn't going to treat him as anything less. Just then, he stirred again, this time with a small groan. "Diana?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Are you realizing this is the worst possible position to sleep in when your body is bruised?"

"...a little bit, yeah."

I huffed a small chuckle, "Maybe you need to sit up for a bit?"

"Good idea," he said, his voice groggy.

He began pushing himself up, a bit reluctantly it seemed. But he got upright and I peeled my legs from the couch, swinging them over the edge as I sat up as well. Feeling the crook in my neck from the weird angle my neck was in for however long i'd dozed off for. "I didn't know FP went outside during the day, but he just left a little bit ago," I said, my right hand rubbing my left shoulder. "I could see if he's got a shirt that would fit you?"

"I don't know. I was thinking shirtless would make all this worth it for you," he smirked at me.

With a small smile, I chuckled, nudging his arm playfully with the side of my wrist. "I'll go ransack the closet."

I pushed up from the couch and pattered through the trailer to the back bedroom. Sure, FP wouldn't be too delighted I was rummaging through his clothes with the intention of stealing one. But, if I was being completely honest, I would say I didn't care much. In my mind, I didn't care much about anything at all regarding that crusty Serpent. All he did was drink and waste away in that dump of a trailer.

The inside of it was one giant trash can—had been for a long time. It was covered in random garbage and beer bottles. Honestly, I had no idea how a man could live like that. Or how any human could. But I guessed that was just what spiraling looked like. After his wife left with his daughter, I could understand some off the ledge weirdness. But this? It was a bit much. He wasn't even trying anymore, and that's what made you sympathetic.

He made it out like the world was against him. Like there was no way he could recover. The problem was that he had to actually try if he wanted to recover. I guessed that he just didn't want to. It was disheartening, but I moved on. I'd just grabbed a shirt that looked like it might have been a round about fit when I heard Sweet Pea's voice from the living area. "Hey, babe," he called. "You might want to come take a look at this."

My eyebrow cocked questioningly as I took the shirt with me to the living room. As I passed through the kitchen and dining area, I saw the little box TV was on in the corner. It was on the local news station. And Alice, Hal, and Betty Cooper were the afternoon headline. "What. The. Actual. Check." I was floored, to say the least. I dropped down onto the couch beside Sweet Pea, eyes glued to the screen. He turned it up a few clicks so I could hear it.

It was Alice talking about Polly. Apparently Polly had escaped Quiet Mercy and was currently missing. I hadn't known because I wasn't at school. I'm sure it was the talk of the morning discussion in the lounge. Another thing I missed. Alice was begging Polly to come home, if she happened to be watching. I almost gagged at her fake sincerity. "If you really cared about Polly, you wouldn't have sent her away," I spat, at the television. I grabbed the remote out of Sweet Pea's hand and switched off the box, grumbling, "Attention whore."

"Someone's bitter," Sweet Pea smirked at me.

I exhaled deeply, my eyebrow slightly furrowed in agitation. "I'm just sick of her lies. What is with the parents on the North side? I mean, is it so hard to genuinely love and care for your children? Is that too much to ask? _Apparently_ —because people like Alice Cooper and Penelope Blossom exist."

He snaked his arms around me, pulling me into his side, and pressed his lips to the top of my head. Then, leaning back to see my face, he said, "Let's go somewhere. I'm starving."

"We could go to Pop's?" I suggested, perking up a bit.

"Perfect. Let's go."


	12. 12: Last Friday Night

An hour after sunset, sitting in a booth at Pop's, leaning into my man's leather-clad side while polishing off the basket of fries on the table. That was my vision of what heaven looked like. It didn't include the bruises on his face. But I could work with that. This time, Sweet Pea sat by the window and I sat closest to the exit, but our backs faced the entrance again. At this point, I didn't really care who saw us together. I was on a high and I wasn't coming down any time soon.

The bell above the door ringing wasn't concerning. Not until movement out of my right eye caught my attention, causing me to glance up. My eyes landed on Jughead. And I inwardly cringed. "Jug? What are you doing here?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "I thought you'd be helping find Polly."

His eyes were flickering between Sweet Pea and I as he replied, shortly, "I was. Then I walked Betty home. Mind if I sit?"

I gestured out a hand, motioning for him to go ahead. But I didn't know what I was doing. This had a high potential for failure, though I tried to keep an open mind. Jughead slid into the booth seat opposite us, and I felt Sweet Pea's arm around my middle tighten, tensing. I tried to ignore it, looking across the table at Jughead. "Why are you here, Jughead?" I asked.

"Looking for you. Ben's back—don't worry, he thinks you're at a study group," Jughead answered. He sat back in the booth, his eyes moving over to Sweet Pea, then back to me. "I see what you mean now when you said 'boyfriend stuff' and 'emergency' in the same sentence. _At least_ tell me he looks better than the other guy."

"Who is this punk?" Sweet Pea asked, looking down at me.

His tone was bitter, ticked off. I wouldn't have expected anything less. I sighed heavily. "Jughead, this is Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea, this is Jughead. Best friend meet boyfriend," I gestured between them with my hand a little, though my voice was mostly dreadful.

"Sweet Pea?" Jughead's eyebrows popped, biting his bottom lip.

"You think _Jughead_ sounds better?" Sweet Pea countered, with narrowed eyes, leaning forward in the booth an inch.

My left hand instantly pressed to the center of Sweet Pea's chest, holding him back from moving any closer. "Pea, don't," I warned, a bit light-heartedly. His eyes swept my way as he began leaning back, catching mine, and he sighed heavily as he settled against the back board. I turned my eyes to Jughead. "Is there a _reason_ why you're looking for me?"

"Yeah—I was worried. You said you'd be home tonight and you weren't. You're lucky I lied for you, or else it would've been Ben that walked in that door," Jughead answered, his demeanor calmed.

I exhaled, "Thank you, Jug. You won't have to lie for me again. I'll be there in an hour, okay?"

He was reluctant, his eyes shifting to the right, glancing over Sweet Pea again. "Fine. Just...be careful, alright?"

I could feel Sweet Pea glaring at Jughead beside me. It was a heat that radiated off him in steady waves. It honestly didn't surprise me he felt threatened by Jughead. I just wished that he didn't. There was no reason to be. My feelings for Jughead hadn't been romantic since the third grade. There was no need to worry there—because they weren't coming back.

Jughead got up from the booth only after I had nodded. His eyes remained on Sweet Pea as he passed, and Sweet Pea didn't let up either. It was like some kind of macho man stare down until Jughead was out of sight, out the door. As soon as he was gone, there was an icy cool that settled in. It was calm. It was normalcy returning to our booth. I leaned back against Sweet Pea's arm, tipping my head back as I looked up at him. "You know I'm yours right?" I asked, rhetorically, with a small smile. "You don't have to fight anyone for my hand."

" _Please_. I'm fighting for _all_ of you," he said, melting my heart a bit with the small smirk that spread across his lips.

"Aw, Sweets, you're gonna make me blush," I said, mildly sarcastic. It caused his smirk to turn into a full-on smile, teeth and all. "Wanna feel like a man, give me a ride home?"

"You say that like I'd let you walk."

I hummed a little as he leaned in, and I rose up to meet his lips halfway. Our mouths tangled openly, deeply, letting everything blend together into one. Deep kisses that made my knees weak were becoming a trend. But there was no way I was letting it stop any time soon.

* * *

I'd been minding my own business. I had no idea what i'd done to deserve it so early in the morning, standing at my locker. But Veronica dropped her left side into the locker beside mine, causing a loud sound. "Veronica," I rolled back on my heels, closing my eyes as the head ache from the sound rolled in between my ears. "To what do I owe this...pleasure?"

"I'm going clubbing tonight with some friends," she answered. "I've got Kevin, Josie, Reggie—all I need is you."

My eyebrows popped as my hands resumed stuffing my book into my locker. "Me? _Why_?"

I'd sounded almost disgusted. But I was actually just really confused. Veronica sighed, turning to rest her back against the locker as she crossed her arms. "You're the perfect example of good girl gone bad, and Archie might have mentioned that you were a good dancer. I need both," she answered, only her head facing me now.

It wasn't something I would've been caught dead doing just weeks ago. But I was more tempted to say yes than I would've cared to admit. What could I say? I was naive. I thought I could slay my demons and forget where I buried them. I wouldn't find out how wrong I was for a while yet. Right then, in that moment, I agreed. Yes, I danced. Not like The Nutcracker—more like Step Up. Ballet was too slow, too tedious. I needed a beat.

I needed a rhythm I could move with that was fast enough to make my heart race. When I got home after school, my closet was my first stop. I'd been digging through the hanging clothes for a solid five minutes before searching through my drawers. I'd tossed options out onto the bed—most falling short and hitting the floor by the chest—as I found them. "Why don't you just wear your usual?" Jughead questioned, typing on his laptop, sitting across the love seat.

My groan of frustration sounded more like a growl. "I don't need Amy Grant, Jug—I need Gwen Stefani."

"Just don't go full Christina Aguilera, alright?" he said, sarcasm evident in his tone. "Please. It _is_ a school night, after all."

"What about this? Too slutty?"

I stepped out of the closet, holding up a red top in front of my body. Jughead glanced over, did a bit of a double take, and cringed. His right eye narrowed as he gave a nod, clearly holding back other unkind words, "Yeah, just a little bit."

"Fine. The black one, then?" I asked, snatching my black top from the floor. I stood upright with it, dropping the red one to hold the black one up to my body. It was a black, long-sleeved crop top with silver sequins covering just the torso. Jughead eyed it for a second. I could tell he wasn't impressed with either option. But he exhaled, shrugging up a shoulder. "Lesser of two evils I guess," he agreed. "Are you sure you want to go this hardcore?"

I pulled my shirt over my head as I replied, "How often do I go clubbing, Jug? Never. I can dress to the nine's just for tonight."

Jughead turned back to his computer as I tugged the crop top on. It ended halfway to my navel. The black denim shorts I picked out were hiphuggers, with rhinestones along the top seams of the pockets. Those shorts actually fit me, considering I only bought them a year ago. Ben never knew, of course. It was my guilty pleasure—buying things South side Diana would wear, knowing full well North side Diana couldn't be seen in public with them.

It'd become a bit of a habit. But I got a lot of interesting clothes out of it. After I put on my outfit, I moved to the bathroom to adjust my makeup. Gold glitter eye shadow and dark orchid lips. "Diana—phone," Jughead called after a moment, from the bedroom.

"Thanks."

I pattered back to the bedroom, straight to the nightstand where i'd left my phone. I'd dropped onto the bed and nabbed the device. Jughead folded away his laptop and began getting up, pulling my eyes from my string of snake emoji messages. "Going to Pop's?" I asked, rhetorically, as my eyes shifted down to my phone.

I hadn't meant to sound so disinterested. But I guessed it was just the person—or people—he was meeting at Pop's that caused the slip. Jughead sighed. "About that. Dad said you two weren't talking," he said, dropping onto the bed beside me. "He wouldn't really say why..."

With it being my turn to sigh, I looked up at him from my phone. "Jughead, FP and I...we don't exactly see eye-to-eye anymore. We just kind of figured that out."

"Why? Did something happen?" he asked, curiously.

"He told Sweet Pea to stay away from me—and it worked, until I called him out. I don't know, I mean...he's still like family. I just used to idolize him and suddenly he's not worth it anymore," I shrugged a little, not knowing what else to do.

Jughead nodded, with a momentary expression of understanding. "I know what you mean," he said, standing. "Well, don't bring the sexy back too hard."

He started around the bed toward the door, and I chuckle. I twisted to see him, "How can you bring it back if you never lost it?"

All I got was a smirk and an eyeroll before he left the bedroom. He was going to Pop's to have dinner with FP, Archie, and Archie's dad. Supposedly, in the two days since he called me about Sweet Pea, FP had started working at Andrews Construction. Trying to 'get his life back together', to quote Jughead. It was a long shot. Especially if the state of his trailer was any indication of how his life was going already. But Jughead seemed hopeful, so I kept my comments to myself.

As according to plan, I met Veronica and the posse at the nightclub just after eight. I'd already told Ben I was going to my study group earlier in the day. Thankfully he was too busy in the kitchen with Cash to notice my outfit when I left. "Hey, night owls," I greeted, walking up to the group waiting for me by the door, my heeled ankle boots making an odd sound on the pavement.

"Hey- wow, nice outfit," Veronica complimented, her eyes scanning my clothes.

Kevin looked baffled. "Is that glitter in your eye shadow?!"

"Yep," I jutted my chin in a nod. "Read it and weep, Keller."

"Alright, who's ready to get their freak on?" Reggie asked, rhetorically.

He was all too excited to get inside the club. But Veronica and Josie cheered as they started for the door, Reggie following close behind, while I practically dragged Kevin along with me behind all of them. He was still drooling over my eyes. He even reached a hand up to touch my right eyelid and I swatted at him, chuckling as we made it inside. "Not fair, Diana," he shook his head, making a pouty face as he shook his head.

I popped an eyebrow. "Mamma came to win. Twenty bucks says I'll get a guy to dance with me faster than you will."

"Oh, it is _on_ ," he held out his hand, and I shook it. "You're going down hard."

Humming, I turned to face the group. Veronica piped up with, "Who wants to get some drinks?" before walking toward the bar. The booming music and bright light beams were something enchanting. Especially when you add alcohol to your system before shoving yourself into the crowd. I'd made the bet with Kevin, but I honestly hadn't intended to actually win it. Just the thrill of dancing in the club was enough to make me come alive.

It felt like someone had put pure caffeine into my drink, but it was just a cocktail. I was dancing, sandwiched between Josie and Veronica, like it was the last day we had on Earth. It felt so good to sway my hips, flip my hair, twirl around to the bass, and sing along like it was karaoke night and I was covering Whitesnake. After a little bit, us girls split up. My hips seemed to be detached from my body, swirling at their own pace, with my hands above my head.

With my eyes having been blissfully closed, I hadn't seen it. But Josie's voice caused me to open them. "Hey, looks like you've got an admirer," she said, insinuatively. And I snickered, seeing what she was seeing. There was a guy watching me—a few guys, actually. Not too far away, all hanging around together. I shook my head, turning to see Josie. "They can look, but they can't touch," I replied, before spinning through the sound of her giggles.

It was not something I was interested in, dancing with someone like that. Dancing without a care knowing they were watching wasn't what I should've done. But I didn't know then. All I knew was that it felt good to be wanted. It was a boost to my ego, to my pride. Reggie was all over Veronica. Kevin was doing some kind of weird eighties dance. Josie was dancing near Kevin. And I went to get another drink. Alone, I wormed through the crowd.

I elbowed my way to the bar and asked for another cocktail. That's when tall, blonde, and pervy stepped up to the bar beside me, leaning into it on his left side. "Put it on mine," he told the bartender, loud enough to be heard over the music. He looked like he was at least twenty-five—if not older. With sandy hair in short, tight curls against the top of his head and piercingly blue eyes. "Thanks," I said, with a small, polite smile.

"It's my pleasure," he smiled, before holding out his hand. "I'm Dustin."

"Diana," I replied, hesitantly shaking his hand.

I'd had no interest in sparking up a conversation. But I guessed that coming to a club was asking for it. Why couldn't a woman go to a club to dance? Why was it always assumed she was there for sex? It was a night of freedom and revenge. I didn't care much for a sixth wheel.

"Wow, that's a beautiful name," he chuckled a little. It was almost like he couldn't find anywhere else for his eyes other than my face, and it was starting to annoy me. "You're a great dancer, by the way."

I bobbed my head a bit, before glancing over at the bartender, still waiting for my drink—it was the only reason I stayed. "I take it you've never seen a woman dance before, then?"

"I'm sorry?" he looked genuinely confused.

"Oh, my bad. That line usually _works_ , doesn't it? Whoops."

I scrunched up my nose in a faux apology, just as the bartender finished my drink. I shrugged as I grabbed my drink and then headed back toward the dance floor. They were playing The Chainsmokers and it felt like i'd successfully dodged a bullet, finding happiness buried in the lyrics of _Closer_. I was done with my drink by the time _Death of A Bachelor_ came on, and I was back to dancing crazily, freely.

It seemed Kevin had attracted the attention of another guy, and it seemed apparent that i'd lost the bet. About the time _Cake By The Ocean_ started, the gang decided to take a break. So we gathered another round of drinks and literally collapsed into a booth. "Mm-mm, drink up girl," Josie told Veronica. "You practically left your body on the dance floor."

"Ugh, I wish, Josie. I wish I could leave my body sometimes. Leave Riverdale, leave everything. What about you, Diana?" Veronica looked to me, sitting in between her and Reggie.

"Do I wanna leave Riverdale? Who doesn't?" I asked, rhetorically.

As I took a drink, Veronica added, "What's your story, anyway? I don't even really know anything about you."

"What's there to know? She lives in nearly the most expensive house in the neighborhood, she's leader of the Polo team, _was_ the most envied girl in all of Riverdale High for reserving Archie Andrews, and her sister is the most adorable human being _on the planet,_ " Kevin dramatized, listing out a few of my North side achievements.

His sensationalized version of me caused everyone to share a good laugh. Sitting up with a light sigh, I set the record straight, telling Veronica actual facts about myself. "I'm adopted—so the money's not actually mine—and I moved to the North side when I was fourteen," I said, fighting the urge to dance to the faint echo of the music. "I love Eminem, crop tops, and bedazzled shorts."

Veronica chuckled at the last thing I listed. "You sound _really_ boring, D," Reggie pointed out.

Instead of throwing my drink into his face like i'd wanted to, I took the coward's route and shoved the side of his head. It was clear Reggie was just about drunk anyway so it didn't really matter. He wouldn't remember it tomorrow, anyway. Once Veronica's mom reported Veronica's credit card stolen, the gang decided to call it a night. I was already going home covered in sweat and smelling like alcohol. Might as well creep in at three o'clock in the morning, too.

At least, that's what I tried to do. I tried to be stealthy and climb in through my bedroom window. But I slipped, I fell forward, and landed right on top of Jughead. Jughead shot up in a startle. We tumbled off the side of the love seat in a tangle of limbs. We hit the hard floor with a solid thud. " _Oh my_ \- Diana!" Jughead practically shrieked, as I squinted to see him in the dark. "Why are you coming in so late?"

"I was clubbing, remember? Nightclubs usually open at _night_ ," I said, keeping my voice down.

I pushed myself up to my feet with the help of the chest at the end of my bed. Jughead groaned, climbing back on top of the love seat. I stumbled through the dark to my closet and flicked on the light. My pajamas were usually shorts and a t-shirt. But instead, that night I just settled for an over-sized t-shirt and my good old underwear. It'd felt like I was living Katy Perry's _Last Friday Night_ music video when Jughead shook me awake in the morning.

I'd just dropped on top of my bed, not even bothering to get below the covers. But sometime while I slept Jughead had draped his blanket over me. "What time is it?" I groaned, rubbing my eyes as I rolled onto my back. "Don't tell me I slept in and missed first period."

"Yeah, you wish. You're only twenty minutes behind," Jughead said.

Sighing heavily, I pushed myself up into a sitting position. "Last night...well, it was awesome. But it was a bad idea, Juggie."

"That's what you get for going full Christina Aguilera," he smirked at his sarcasm. "This is when I'd laugh in your face and say I told you so. Because I kind of _did_."

I grabbed my pillow from behind me and swung it at him, " _O-kay_! Get off your high horse."

He'd stepped back to miss the pillow, and used it as momentum to start walking toward the door. "Right. Horses are _your_ thing," he smiled, before leaving the bedroom. That wasn't the last time I saw Jughead Jones smile that day. It was just the most memorable one, before Sheriff Keller made his stupidest mistake yet.


	13. 13: I'll Be Good

It was a normal school day. Just like any other. Except, it was a bit too happy. There was too much. Laughing with Veronica and Kevin about the night before. Sitting with the gang at lunch for the first time in weeks. Not cringing when I looked at Archie—I was too happy, too free to let it matter. It felt like a good day. Then, after school, I stood in front of my open locker. My eye were downcast, staring at my phone in my hands. I'd been texting Sweet Pea on and off all day.

 **SP: We should go out tonight.**

 **ME: Is that the best you can do?  
**

 **SP: Babe it's not prom.  
**

 _(Then, five minutes later, after I'd let him sweat it out…)_

 **SP: Will you go to Pop's with me tonight, princess?  
**

 **ME: Yes, I would LOVE to.  
**

 **SP: I'll pick you up at six.**

My teeth pulled my lower lip into my mouth to hide a squeal as my free hand gripped the open locker door. That was it. The highlight of my day. The little things were what made me smile the most. But then it was washed away. The happiness left as I heard my name. It was Jughead. I knew it before i'd turned around. When I did turn around, I saw Jughead walking a stride behind Sheriff Keller and Principal Weatherbee.

Eyes widening, chest filling with worry, I said, "Wha- Jug, what's going on?"

"Call my dad, Diana," Jughead said, urgently, as he only followed them farther down the hall, farther away from me. There was a certain fear in his eyes that I will never forget. "Call my dad!"

I knew it was serious if he wanted me to track down FP. Immediately, I shut my locker with a hard shove, and started dialing FP's trailer. It rang in my ear as I sped past a stunned Archie Andrews and Betty Cooper toward the exit. And the phone kept ringing, and kept ringing. It rang until it went to voice mail. Standing on the front steps of the school, I dialed again. The Sheriff's cruiser pulled out of the parking lot. Jughead's silhouette in the backseat.

This was wrong. It was all wrong. Why would Keller suspect Jughead? Jughead wasn't anywhere near Jason on July fourth. I guess that was too hard to grasp. A hand suddenly touched my arm, and I turned left to see a worried looking Archie. "What was that about?" he asked, a bit panicked sounding.

I shook my head, "I don't know. But we need to get to the station. Now."

"I'll call my dad. He can give us a ride," he offered.

I agreed, only because I didn't have a better option. Walking would take just as long as waiting for Mr. Andrews to pull up with his truck. So I waited. I waited impatiently until that familiar pickup pulled in, came to a stop beside us, and Archie told me to get in. We crammed into the small truck. At the last minute, Betty decided she was coming, too.

We were packed in like sardines. But we managed. Mr. Andrews drove us to the Sheriff's Station. We hadn't arrived too much longer after Jughead left the school, but I still felt like we'd been taking too long. I rushed to get from the truck. To get inside the building. To give Keller a piece of my mind. But Mr. Andrews insisted he go talk to the Sheriff alone and that us kids wait in the lobby area by the front doors. I wouldn't have that.

I protested, demanding I be there, too. He agreed to that but then Archie wanted to come, too. So the three of us spoke to Sheriff Keller in a side hallway outside of the interrogation rooms. "Jughead's not helping himself in there," Keller said. "I asked him for an alibi and he's just giving me lip."

"Why would _Jughead_ kill Jason Blossom?" I questioned, my arms tightly crossed.

"Well, it's not uncommon for victims of bullying to get revenge on their bullies," Keller shrugged a little.

My eyebrows popped. "Oh, so this is about bullying? Okay, then why don't you drag every teenager Jason ever teased in here and not just Jughead?"

I'd taken a step forward mid sentence, and Mr. Andrews gently grabbed my upper arm, giving me a warning expression. "Diana, calm down, okay?" he said, calmly. "We're gonna get this sorted out." Then Mr. Andrews turned to the Sheriff and he told him that Jughead had been working at Andrews Construction on July eleventh—Jason's actual date of death.

Fred said he could offer evidence to support his claims, and Keller agreed to release Jughead. When Jughead came down the hallway, I felt my heart go straight to my throat. I marched straight for him, walking fast—with a purpose. My arms went around his neck about the same time his arms went around my middle, and he buried his face in my shoulder. I could tell, on the way toward me, that he was about to cry. Or had been crying.

The pink around the edges of his eyes and slight glisten to his left cheek confirmed it. And it only made me feel worse. I rubbed my hand comfortingly along his shoulder blade, my chin on the shoulder of his fleece jacket. "It's okay, it's over now," I tried to assured, also trying to calm myself. "There's nothing Pop's milkshakes can't fix, right?"

When he finally pulled away, he sniffled hard. "I guess my dad didn't show, huh?"

It wasn't really a question. It was completely rhetorical. With a certain defeated, disappointed tone. I shook my head slowly. "I tried to call him...but he didn't answer," I replied, apologetically. "I'm sorry, Jug." He'd tried to act like it didn't matter. But I knew for a fact that it did. It was all that mattered.

We walked out the side door of the building. Along the concrete walkway and down the stairs. Then, out of nowhere, FP came walking down the small alley toward us. "Jughead!" he called, to get our attentions. Then, as he arrived in front of us, he said, "Sorry, I, uh, I came as soon as I got your messages. My phone, the stupid battery. I forgot to plug it in last night. So...what happened?"

"Nothing. It's fine now," Jughead said, somewhat bitterly. "Mr. Andrews took care of it."

All I could do was glare at FP. He came here so late, looking like he just pulled himself from the bottom of a dumpster, and then blamed a dead phone battery? If it was dead, why did it ring so many times before it went to voicemail? Of course, I didn't say that out loud. But I wished I would have. "What jacked up stuff did they accuse you of in there, huh? Those idiots trying to throw you in jail like they did your old man?" FP questioned, his voice steadily rising. "Well, forget them! I will rip Keller a new one for trying to pull that-"

FP was marching forward, getting angry. Mr. Andrews immediately stepped in front of him and held him back, trying to talk him down. "Hey- settle down-" Emphasis on _tried_.

"He is my son!" FP shouted, pushing Mr. Andrews square in the chest. "He is _my_ son, Fred! You would do the same for your boy."

Like an angry bear, FP kept walking toward the building. But Jughead grabbed him by the jacket, stopping him cold in his tracks. "Dad...don't make things worse. _Please_ ," Jughead said, in a pleading whisper. FP seemed to come to it, to realize his odd behavior, with a deer-in-the-headlights expression. He began to turn, to start walking out of the alley. "Yeah...yeah, okay," he said, as he walked slowly. "You, uh, coming home with me?"

"He can stay with me," I piped up.

At the sound of my voice, FP turned around, stopping. The look on his face said a thousand things. But he looked like he might have actually been on the verge of tears. His eyes slightly glistening, looking right at me. He nodded a little, "You two have always looked out for each other. Maybe that's for the best. Both of you—come here for a second, alright?"

He gestured with a hand for us to come closer. Jughead and I shared a glance. It was hesitant. But Jughead and I walked over to FP. It seemed like Betty, Archie, and Mr. Andrews caught the drift. They all stepped back a bit in a not-so-subtle way, giving us space. I didn't know what FP would have to say that I had to hear. Even so—despite everything that's happened between us—I listened. FP bent just a little, looking between Jughead and I.

"Look...I'm gonna get my act together. Okay? I'm gonna bring your mom and Jellybean home so we're all under the same roof," he said, surely. "I'm gonna be a better father. But I'm gonna need a little time. Not a lot, not long—a month, two at the most. But you guy's gotta believe in me. I can't do this without you two."

My arms remained crossed, but I allowed my expression to loosen. He was extending an olive branch. Even I could see that. "You've always got me, dad," I decided. I'd said that title because I wasn't being serious in using it. It was just sarcastic. I'd used it before, and it'd been fine. But something about FP's expression changed. It worsened, saddening even further. Something unreadable flashed across it. "Come here," he said, taking a sidestep toward me.

Before I'd realized it, he'd put his arms around me in a hug, holding onto me tightly. It felt like I had no choice but to hug him back. But I wanted to. A large part of me missed him. I swallowed hard, keeping the lump in my throat at bay. Pulling away from him, I sniffled, and plastered on a small smile. "We believe in you, dad," Jughead said, as FP hugged him next.

I couldn't believe it. The way FP seemed to truly mean what he said. It was heart-warming. But it was also troubling. There was no way he could get his act 'together' and still be a Serpent. So what exactly he meant by that word was eluding me. FP Jones would never leave the Serpents. Not even for his own son. With a chuckle, FP pulled away from Jughead, and started walking the other way. Playing it off like he really didn't care. Even though all he did was care.

* * *

My lungs were on fire, hands caressing the warm skin of Sweet Pea's neck, locked in a heated battle for dominance over the situation. He had a hand at my lower back, another gripping tightly to the denim covering my right hip. Yes, we were making out just a few blocks from the Wyrm. He was supposed to be dropping me off with Joaquin and promptly leaving. But he had been insistent on a goodbye kiss and, well, there we were.

I didn't want it to end. The taste of his lips was too addicting. It took every ounce of will power in me to finally pull away. He snuck another quick peck before I leaned too far back for him to reach, taking in a deep breath as I smiled. "Easy, tiger," I exhaled, chuckling. "What's gotten into _you_ this evening?"

"Just making up for lost time," he smirked, looking just as breathless.

"Uh-huh. Well, I have to go. So we'll have to finish this later, yeah?"

He nodded, his eyes flickering down to my lips. I could tell he was going in for one last kiss as he leaned in. But I leaned out of the way at the last second, dipping my head down and pressing my lips to his neck tattoo instead. I could tell it surprised him by the way his muscles tensed. As I pulled back, his smirk was only wider. "I would kiss yours, but..." he trailed, insinuatively.

He was referring to the placement of my tattoo. It was covered by the waist band of my jeans, a t-shirt, a hoodie, and a denim vest. There wasn't a lot of access to my right abdominal area. I grinned, giving his shoulder a shove. "Like I said," I took a step back, letting him go. "Later." I winked my left eye, sliding my hands into my pockets.

His whole body reverberated with a chuckle. Joaquin looked bored out of his mind and borderline disgusted when I turned around, walking toward him where he was parked across the lot. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Joaquin," I pointed out, smiling as I approached him.

"I just sat through you and Sweet Pea making out for _ten minutes,_ " he pointed out, giving me a pointed look.

I nodded a little. "Yeah...that wasn't really apart of plan. Sorry."

He sighed and swung his leg over the bike behind him. "Hop on," he said. "You sure you want to do this? I thought you were trying to distance yourself from the Serpents."

I climbed on behind him as he started up the bike. What he was saying was true. Distancing myself seemed like the only way to keep my sister in the beginning. But now getting close to them was the only way to help my friends. "This is worth it," I answered, more for myself than for Joaquin.

The Wyrm was just a few blocks away. But it was better if I went in on a bike with Joaquin than with Sweet Pea. Archie, Kevin, and Moose didn't need to meet him yet. Kevin already told them about Joaquin, though. There was no secret being exposed there. As we pulled into the parking lot, the boys looked surprised to see me. Kevin didn't seem as surprised. More like he'd had a hunch and it was just confirmed. Like he was applauding himself for knowing all along.

Even though this didn't mean what he thought it meant. Joaquin shut off the bike and I climbed off, staying close as he got off after me. "Diana?" Archie asked, in disbelief. "You know Joaquin?" Kevin was giving me an odd, unexplainable stare. But I ignored it, and Joaquin and I walked over to the group. Sliding my hands in my pockets again, I shrugged. "Yeah, he's an old friend. He told me you want to poke around the Wyrm?" I said, trying to elude to it being a bad idea.

"We need to know if it was the Serpents that attacked Moose," Archie explained.

Glancing up at Moose, I could see the damage whoever attacked him did. My eyes turned sympathetic. "Ouch. You in a lot of pain?"

"No," he shook his head. "It's mostly just a big bruise."

Sighing, I looked to Joaquin. "If this gets out of hand-"

"Don't worry, D. I got it covered," he assured, before looking to the boys. "Just keep your heads down—like we talked about. Keep eye contact to a minimum."

They all nodded in agreement. But I could see it getting out of hand so quickly. Archie didn't have as short a fuse as Sweet Pea, but he did have a habit of rushing in too soon. I knew the people in that bar better than I cared to admit. One wrong move, and someone goes out on a stretcher. Archie said that if Moose saw the guy that beat him, we would immediately leave and call the Sheriff.

That idea wasn't the best either, but I liked it better than the idea of dealing with it ourselves. We went inside. Joaquin lead the way, me close behind, and the boys a stride or two behind me. Act natural was the key. Everyone already knew Joaquin and I. So we were the front men. Acting normal on behalf of the anxiety-fueled teens with us. A few steps in, I felt a close presence at my back. Then Archie's voice came into my ear in a whisper. "You look like you've been in here before," he noticed.

"That's because I _have_ , Archie," I said, almost like it should be obvious. "I grew up down South, remember?"

I tapped Joaquin's shoulder as I split left, to which he nodded, remaining with the others. My path lead me to a pool table. Securing one wasn't as easy as it looked. But I sweet-talked Tall Boy into giving up his game—I had to pay the bet money, but I could live with that. Joaquin brought the boys over after it'd cleared out. "Play, losers," I said, tossing a cue stick to Kevin. He just barely caught it. "Unfurl the wad in your panties a bit."

It wasn't hard to miss the look Archie gave me. Like he didn't recognize me. And maybe I liked that. That he truly didn't know me. Because I hadn't given away my best self only to lose it to a moronic jock like Archie Andrews. I ignored it, smiling loosely as I rounded up the balls with Kevin and Joaquin. Thinking back on it, it would've been kind of nice to know Sweet Pea was here to back me up if things went south. Then I reminded myself Archie didn't need to know.

Not yet. Probably not ever. We played pool. Acting like we belonged there. I may not have been wearing my jacket, but I didn't need it to be known as a regular in here. Moose kept an eye on almost everyone in the room, casually glancing across the bar. Archie stood by him. Offering invisible support. "See anyone?" he asked.

"I don't know," Moose said, indecisively. "That guy _kind of_ looks familiar."

"You sure?" Archie asked for conformation.

That's when I glanced up, found who they were looking at. Moose was looking right at Mustang. My eyes widened, but Archie had started moving before I could speak. "Archie-!" I skidded around the side of the pool table, walking fast after him. Archie grabbed Mustang's shoulder, causing Mustang to turn around. "Hey. You like beating up kids?" Archie rose his voice at him a bit.

I grabbed Archie's shoulder tightly to pull him back. But Mustang was already offended. "This isn't the first time one of you Bulldogs have come in here, looking to cause trouble," Mustang said. He shoved Archie hard, pushing me back a step, my lower back hitting the pool table. A sharp pain shot up my spine and I made an inaudible cry, doubling over a bit. A Serpent grabbed Kevin, another grabbed Moose. Mustang hoisted Archie up and slammed him onto the opposite pool table.

That's when an all too familiar voice came from above, like it was coming from heaven itself. "Hey! That's enough Mustang. Let him go," it was FP. I looked up as he was coming through the crowd toward us. Mustang dropped Archie and walked away almost immediately—not daring to test FP. "I'll take care of this."

My eyes shot to Joaquin angrily. I'd just assumed that Joaquin made sure FP wasn't there tonight before bringing these North siders here. But I guessed I had set the bar a little too high. It wasn't his secret to keep. It was mine. FP turned toward me as Archie pulled himself off the other pool table. "Hey, you okay?" FP asked, genuinely concerned.

I nodded. "I'm fine."

"Alright. All of you out, go home," FP said, making a shooing motion with his hands at the group.

Archie reluctantly turned on his heel and followed Kevin and Moose out. FP pointed a finger at me and slid his eyes toward the door in a gesture. As a way of saying 'you, too'. I sighed heavily, and followed after the boys. Kevin and Moose were practically running. It was quite humorous to watch but I was a little too busy to enjoy it. I pushed through the door just after Archie, FP right behind me. "Not you, red," FP called after Archie.

Archie sighed as he stopped, not far from FP and I. "I'm okay," Archie waved away Kevin and Moose, whom both looked ready to bolt for the hills. "You guys go ahead."

With those words, Kevin and Moose sprinted up third like their back ends were literally on fire. Just after they crossed the street, a familiar Serpent pulled up along the street beside the parking lot on his motorcycle, and I sighed heavily, turning to see FP. "You called my _boyfriend_ to come get me?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow imitatively.

" _That's_ your boyfriend?" Archie asked, as he turned to me, features sunk deep in surprise.

"Go home, Diana," FP told me. "Ben's gotta be wondering where you are."

With a groan, I complied like a good girl. Ignoring Archie altogether. I walked right past him, breaking into a jog across the short parking lot. Sweet Pea looked at me funny, eyes narrowed as I approached. "What were you thinking—bringing North siders to the Wyrm?" he asked, rhetorically.

I climbed on the back of the bike, "I'll explain later. Just take me home."


	14. 14: Birthday (Pt 1)

There are some things every child looks forward to in their lives. Certain milestones were more important than others, depending on how you looked at it. These milestones, no matter how ridiculous or inconsequential, always made us feel a bit bigger, a bit better. We were one step closer to being a grown up. As a teenager, there were a few things to look forward to. Sweet Sixteen, driver's license, graduation, first job. Today was one of those magical milestones—my Sweet Sixteen.

Whoever titled it 'sweet' didn't know just how bitter sixteen years old could taste. This was not a happy time for me. Birthdays were depressing, to say the least. But I plastered on a smile and acted like I cared—mostly for Cash's sake. She always got so excited on birthdays. Like it was her job to plan the party, to wrap the presents, to do literally everything. She was the self-titled birthday manager of the household. That morning, she pounced on me like a cat on a mouse.

Literally. She bounded across my room and leapt onto the bed, landing right on top of me and Killer, scaring both of us to pieces. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DIANA!" she shouted, almost right in my ear. My features cringed—but I couldn't tell if that was from the noise, or the sharp ache in my legs from her body weight landing on them.

"Thank you, Cash..." I groaned, pushing myself up to sit.

Killer barked and dove off the bed. He wasn't having any of this _birthday_ nonsense. "Aren't you excited?!" Cash practically squealed. "I'm gonna plan the best party ever! All I need is a guest list. Should I invite Archie? Probably not—that would be awkward and ruin the mood. Jughead! You're invited!"

Jughead looked as unamused as the dog, rubbing his eyes as his head popped up from beneath the blanket on the love seat, "Good to know."

"Come on, get out of bed! You're gonna be late for school!" Cash said, before bouncing off the bed.

As soon as she was out of the room, I dropped back onto my pillow in a flop. She'd come back in and belted a warning of lateness. And in fifteen minutes, I was up and in the bathroom. Shaving my legs on the side of the tub while Jughead brushed his teeth in the sink. Walking into school, with my ear buds in, I could feel however I wanted. Because Cash wasn't around to lie to. I could relax my shoulders, maybe even frown a little.

Why were birthdays so depressing? My parents died less than a week before mine.

What no one knew about that day still stuck with me. The official story was a car accident, some drunk driver that wasn't paying attention. Because, well, he was drunk. But that was a lie—just like the rest of my life. I was there when they died, watching. It was just a drag race, dad had said. I'd seen him race before. He won a lot of them. And mom was always in the passenger seat. She was the family's true adrenaline junkie. Maybe that's where I got it?

I'd successfully made it to my locker without incident. And then tragedy struck, a small village somewhere was destroyed, all because Archie Andrews decided it was a good time to bother me. At first I didn't notice him. The Neon Trees album in my ears was too loud. But he flagged me down, standing right next to me, and I sighed heavily as I yanked out an ear bud. "What, Archie?" I asked, disinterested.

He looked a little nervous, timid. "Um, I just wanted to, you know, say happy birthday."

"That's very swell of you," I thanked, with a dry-looking attempt at sarcasm. "You know what would make it happy? If it ended."

"Come on, Diana. You don't really mean that, do you?" he inquired, sounding a bit hopeful.

"My parents died two years ago as of Sunday, so, yeah," I bobbed my head.

That was when all attempts of joy on his face fell flat. And a second later, I got a page from the administration office. It was the perfect escape to leave that Titanic of a conversation at my locker, along with the red haired boy that initiated it, and run. I'd stuck the other ear bud back in and started down the hall to the office.

Not many people knew when my birthday was. Only Archie, Ben, Cash, Jughead, and Cheryl. FP knew at one point, but you never knew for certain if he'd remember each new year that it came around. I made my way to the administration office, but I'd picked up Jughead on the way. Apparently Veronica found out it was my birthday because Archie let it slip in the student lounge before coming to tell me happy birthday at my locker.

I groaned, but it sounded like a beached whale. "Jug," I whined. "This is turning into one of those corny teen Disney movies and it's not even nine-thirty."

"Be cool, soda pop. I doubt Veronica's going to do anything. If anything, she'll just say happy birthday like the rest of us," Jughead tried to assure me.

Though I knew it was fleeting, I tried to nod, take a deep breath. The thought of my birthday becoming public knowledge was an anxiety attack waiting to happen. I hadn't celebrated my fourteenth birthday. Because there was nothing to celebrate. Fifteen was only important to Cash, so we went to the Twilight Drive-In after dinner at Pop's with Jughead. Sixteen? It was beginning to look like I didn't like it. Still with nothing to celebrate, I marched into the office.

Jughead was beside me, but he was behind a stride when I slowed to a stop in front of the desk, my eyes stuck on the ornate arrangement of pink, white, and purple flowers. "Oh, no. _Please_ don't say those are for me," I said, my shoulders dropping. Mrs. Philips only gave me a side-eye from behind the desk in reply. I pinched one of the pink flowers between my index finger and thumb, as a certain unreadable emotion filled my stomach.

"Are those-?" Jughead stepped up beside me.

"Sweet peas," I answered, as I exhaled, not needing him to finish to know what he was about to say.

The white flowers were small clumps of baby's breath, while the purple flowers were some kind of bell. I could almost _feel_ Jughead smirking at me. "Classy," he commented, stoically sarcastic. "At least he got a card." He reached past me and snatched a coral envelope from off the top of the desk. It was right beside the flowers, but I hadn't noticed it. Jughead broke the seal with a quick finger swipe before I took the card back.

There was no way I was letting Jughead open it. I might have hated my birthday, but if it was addressed to me, I was going to be the one to enjoy opening it and reading what was inside. My fingers slid into the envelope and gently tugged out the card. It had a pink and white polka dot border, with sporadic doodle hearts on the white center background. The pink block words had the occasional filled in, patterned letters. The words were, 'Happy Birthday My Sweet Heart.'

It looked like something my grandmother would send me. Jughead snickered and my elbow instinctively shot right into his left set of rib bones. As he hissed, bending as he took a step back, I pushed open the card to read the inside. It was your typical write-in card. In the open space was a sloppy, loose hand writing that only could belong to a Doctor. But I knew who it was before my eyes got to the slightly larger SP scribbled at the bottom.

Jughead stepped forward again to peer over my shoulder, a hand still across his middle. "This is a disguise?" he sarcastically faked surprise. "And here I thought he just had feminine taste."

Sweet Pea knew all the reasons why I couldn't expose our relationship to the whole school. This was his way of giving me a reason to lie and say it wasn't from a guy. Because no guy would send their girlfriend this kind of card—or a bouquet of sweet peas. Only I would recognize the flowers' level of symbolism. And Jughead, but only because they'd met. A small smile pulled the corners of my lips up in a curve as I folded away the card.

"I didn't realize you guys were birthday-level serious," Jughead said, giving me a semi-worried look as I grabbed the bouquet off the counter.

I shook my head, walking toward the hall, "I didn't tell him it was my birthday."

"Then how'd he know to send cheap flowers and a Dollar Store birthday card?" Jughead questioned, walking quickly to catch up to me.

I'd only rolled my eyes, but I honestly had no definite answer for Jughead. There could be a few options. He could've gotten it from FP, but that wasn't very likely. I supposed maybe Tall Boy knew my birthday, considering he and my mom were half related. But that was also circumstantial. I shrugged, "I don't know. I'll tell him you asked, though."

That was the last i'd actually spoken to Jughead until lunch. It was the worst experience at a lunch table I'd ever had. I'd almost hit someone in the face. And that someone was Archie Andrews. Because, the second I sat down beside Jughead, across the table from Veronica, everyone sitting at the table began singing. It was just the typical birthday song. But it made me think of things. Things i'd chosen to leave at the home I left on the South side.

My knuckles were white, gripping the sides of my tray, by the time they finished. Jughead sat in stunned silence, but I could feel his eyes on me. I didn't look up from my tray. Not at first. But, when I did, my eyes were just about to water as they became daggers aimed for Archie. "You're an _idiot_ , Andrews," I spat, before abruptly standing. I climbed out from the table and stormed away, like a self-absorbed princess looking for attention.

But I had to leave quickly. It was either that, or sit there and let the entire group see me cry after hearing people sing the birthday song to me. I was sure that Jughead was telling them why I'd left. If not him, maybe Archie. Archie knew full well why I hated that song, why I hated this day. And yet, he let me down. Again. I'd found myself eating lunch alone in the barn. My lunch being a bag of carrots I would have to pay Lewis back for.

I'd eat some, then hold it out to Indiana so she could take the rest. It may not have been the typical example of comfort. But it was better than the idea of sitting with the others. My cheeks had dried after a few stray tears slipped out—the only ones to escape before I reined myself in. That was when I deemed this unacceptable. I hadn't owed anyone an explanation. No one deserved it from me. But after a while, I made my way back to the lunch table.

All seemed awkward, and quiet. I'd guessed that was what happened when your friends tried to do something nice for you and you returned it with anger and an over dramatic exit. I stepped up to the side of the table, turning nearly all heads. I took in a deep breath. "My parents died when I was fourteen. A few days before my birthday, actually. Sunday was the two year anniversary," I explained, gaining looks of sympathy. "I didn't like my birthday after that—understandably so. But the last time more than one person sang that song...was that Sunday morning. I don't even remember why, but we had to celebrate early, so we had cake on Sunday. Then they left, and...never came home."

"I am _so_ sorry, Diana. I didn't know your birthday had that much history," Veronica immediately apologized.

Archie spoke up next, "I've known you for two years and _I_ didn't even know all of that."

"Guys, really- I'm not looking for sympathy. I just want you to know why today is so hard for me," I explained, as calmly as possible. "It's not you. It literally _is_ me. My sister's planning a birthday party, but only because she's nine and thinks that planning it will somehow bring our parents back."

"Wait, there's a party?" Cheryl walked up from the left, suddenly appearing out of seemingly thin air.

"Not that kind of party, Cheryl," Veronica shook her head, eyes narrowed at the red head standing beside me.

My hand pulled out my cell phone as I spoke. "Cash texted me the guest list before I even got to school," I said, opening my inbox. "Betty, Kevin—and his plus one, Veronica, Jughead, and Cheryl. There are more, but they aren't here."

I tried to ignore the look on Archie's face as his eyes became downcast, his features saying he knew his name wouldn't be on the list. Cheryl was over the moon that she was invited. Mostly because she adored Cash. And Cash adored Cheryl. But not as much as she adored Jughead. His name was in all capitals on the list. Half the names were misspelled, but they didn't need to know that. Throughout the day, Cash was texting me the plan.

It turned out I was having a pizza party this year. She was going to the store with Ben after school to get the dough and proper toppings. The only things I was allowed to decide were soda flavors, toppings, and ice cream to go with the cake. The cake was always a surprise with Cash. It would be apart of her big reveal at the very end of the celebration, just like every other year. When I got home, the kitchen had been turned into a pizzeria.

Prepackaged dough sat on the island, along with the containers of toppings, plastic utensils, and plastic plates and cups. They were all purple. My favorite color. It wasn't my favorite shade, but it was the same basic color Cash knew I liked. Cash nearly took me out at the knees the second I walked in the door. "DIANA!" she shouted, latching onto my waist like a leech. "We're all ready for the party!"

"I see that. Great job, Cash. It looks great," I smiled down at her, hugging her back.

It took everything in me not to scream. It took everything not to stomp my foot and shout from the rooftops that this was only making me feel worse. Cash's hopes would've been crushed, and I would've had to see her cry, and that was something I'd vowed never to be the reason for. So I went with her to the couch, where we sat and ate Oreos that she snuck in the cart at the last minute while shopping with Ben.

We ate them while watching an episode of My Little Pony. It was Cash's favorite show. But, sometimes, I would catch her watching Days of Our Lives. Yes, she was nine years old and watching a soap opera. It was mom's favorite, so I didn't really question it too much. I'd just tell her that she should watch something else, that it wasn't a show for a nine year old. She would pout but do as told and put on SpongeBob, or whatever happened to be on at the time.

We sat on the couch, her body across my front as she sat on my lap, my legs off to the side and propped up on the coffee table. She held the container in her lap, occasionally allowing me to snag another from the half empty row nearest me. It was like that for a couple hours, until the guests began to arrive. Jughead was already at the house. But the first to show up was Veronica, accompanied by Betty, Kevin, and Joaquin.

Joaquin was in logoless attire, the best option for stepping into the Blackwood house. He and Kevin walked in last as I ushered the group inside. "Happy birthday, D," Joaquin said, stepping in beside Kevin. "You're forty now, right?"

"Well, at least I'm not eighty-two," I countered, closing the door behind them.

"Um, where should I put these?" Kevin asked, as I turned to face them again.

He was holding two small, wrapped boxes in matching paper. I knew that—if Joaquin happened to actually get me something, he would never have wrapped it himself—Kevin must have chosen the style, considering it was a festive explosion of confetti on white paper. I gestured to the coffee table, "Oh, um, there is fine."

"DIANA!" Cash shouted from the kitchen. "GET IN HERE!"

After almost being made deaf by my little sister, I made my way into the kitchen. Cash was rushing around in a blur trying to get everyone a chunk of packaged dough. Betty was tying an apron on Veronica, and Jughead was sneaking bits of pineapple from the open plastic container. On her way back toward my end of the kitchen, Cash smacked his hand. He protested, but she warned him that he wouldn't get any pizza if he stole any more toppings.

So, begrudgingly, he stopped. The kitchen was loud with giggles at the nine year old marching around, directing pizza makers like a four-foot Gordon Ramsey. Cash was the queen of the kitchen. She paired everyone up to make pizzas. Betty with Jughead, Veronica with Joaquin, and me with Kevin. It was the weirdest pairing decision ever. But it worked. Kevin and I briefly argued over his obsessive need to sprinkle cheese literally everywhere.

For the rest of it, I was too busy laughing to really care what the stupid pizza looked like. "Why does ours look like the back of someone's head?!" Jughead questioned, staring down at his pizza, trying not to laugh. Betty was in a fit of laughter already, with Veronica sharing in the humor beside her. Jughead thrusted a finger over at me and Kevin. "You got yours out of the freezer, _didn't_ you?"

"We're just _better_ than you," I stuck my tongue out.

Jughead's eyebrows popped, "Oh, really? You're better than me? Can you do _this_?"

With a flick of his wrist, he'd sent cheese across the island in a flurry. The small but thick pieces pattered across Kevin and I. Something in my chest reared its head as my mouth fell open. Everyone in the room was silent, all with gasping expressions. This was an act of war. "Yeah, I can," I taunted. "But I can also do _this_!"

I grabbed a fistful of olives and chucked them across the room like I was the star pitcher at the big game. Betty and Veronica squealed, moving quickly to get out of the way before most of the olive rings slapped Jughead in the face. Cash looked like she was about to explode when sauce started flying. It'd missed me completely, but flicked all over Kevin, and the wall by the kitchen doorway. Kevin shrieked, "Guys! Seriously?!"

For a moment, there was a pause. All eyes turned to Kevin. He looked around at us disapprovingly. Then he grabbed a fistful of pineapple chunks. "You're doing it all wrong!" he said, obviously trying to hide a grin at this point. "If you're gonna have a food fight, do it right."

Before I knew what was happening, he was right next to me, dropping the pineapple down the back of my shirt. As I gasped from the slippery cold fruit dripping down my spine, the kitchen once again erupted in laughter, and now Veronica was in on it. I immediately went for the bowl of shredded cheese, turning on Kevin. He held up his hands to block it from hitting his face as I threw fistfuls at him.

With a quick glance to the left, I could see Betty was being forced into the fight as a means for survival. Veronica was using the pepperoni slices as throwing stars like a ninja. The kitchen was a mess. We would get in a lot of trouble when Ben got home. But I didn't really care anymore.


	15. 15: Birthday (Pt 2)

After the food fight, I took the girls upstairs to get a change of clothes while the boys used the downstairs bathroom to clean up. The girls by far had it worse. Sauce and toppings in our hair and stuck in jewelry. I'd tried not to touch anything, using my foot to nudge open my bedroom door. "You can use the shower if you want," I offered, as Betty and Veronica followed in behind me. "I have clothes that should fit both of you."

I closed the door with a kick from my heel, and then I went straight into the bathroom. "Wow. I have to admit, this is _not_ how I expected your bedroom would look," Veronica said, glancing around as I passed her. The dark, flat purple walls and punk rock band posters weren't the bulk of the change. They were just the most noticeable.

"Yeah, it's kind of a work in progress," I replied.

I flicked on the sink and Betty came into the bathroom. We both looked utterly ridiculous. But we peeled off the dirtied clothes and Betty took the sink while I turned on and climbed into the shower. My bra and underwear got soaked, but I was able to scrub off the food stuck to my face and tangled in my hair. When I got out, Betty was almost cleaned up in the sink. Dripping, I pattered across the bedroom to the closet. That's when I noticed Veronica.

She was obviously snooping, looking closely at the pictures on top of my desk. "Like what you see?" I asked, shivering a bit from the cold air against my recently warmed skin. I'd made it into the closet in a split second, then started sifting through my hanging clothes for something to wear.

Veronica looked up at me, "Sorry, I don't mean to pry. But- is that your dad?"

Her finger pointed to a silver frame, and just a quick glance told me which one it was. Shaking my head, I replied, "No, that's FP—Jughead's dad. He's kind of like a father to me, though. Has been since before mine died."

"Why don't you have any pictures of _your_ dad around?" Veronica asked, curiously.

"V," Betty shook her head pointedly, giving Veronica a look.

I sighed and pulled a hoodie over my head, before turning to face the girls, "It's okay, Betty. To answer your question, I don't have any pictures of my dad to put up. There were a lot of things we had to leave behind when we moved in here. Family photos was one of them. All I have is a full photo book under my bed."

It really wasn't that deep, that personal of a question to answer. When Betty finished in the bathroom, she came to the closet so Veronica could clean up next. I let Betty skim through my clothes while I dried my hair, sitting on the end of my bed. There was a brief knock on the door, followed by a familiar male voice. "Hey- you decent?"

"Morally? Probably not," I smiled at my own sarcasm.

Veronica snickered in the bathroom, before pattering across the room to the closet. There was a pause on the other side of the door, "How about _physically_?"

"Oh, yeah, you're good there. Just avoid the closet full of half-naked women."

Jughead opened the door with an eyeroll. He barely took two steps inside, angled just right to keep his back to the closet. "Cash is demanding your presence downstairs," he said. Then, an eyebrows rising, he added, "And you might want to put some pants on. Kevin and Joaquin are now outnumbered. There's also a very tall, very _impatient_ guest waiting for you...on the back porch?"

He did an odd winking expression, but I could understand what guest he was talking about just by the annoyance in his voice. Veronica leaned her body halfway out the closet, anything important covered by the door frame she hung onto. "The back porch?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow, curiously.

I hopped up from the bed. "Can you cover for me with Cash?" I asked, looking to Jughead. "Five, ten minutes—I promise."

Jughead rolled his eyes again, but agreed. I grabbed the first available pair of jeans from my closet and put them on. I hadn't realized they were my ripped, faded jeans until I started walking. But, by then, it was too late. "Oh, come on! We don't get to know who the mystery guest is?" Veronica called after me, as I stepped through the doorway. I'd heard Jughead's voice after that, but I was halfway down the stairs and tuning it out.

I'd cut left at the bottom, using the lack of attention from the guests to my advantage. No one noticed me—thankfully. Otherwise I would've gotten called over by Cash and _never_ made it outside. The short drapes that covered the window in the back door concealed his identity, but the light from the porch made a lot more detail visible through the thin fabric. My fingers turned the knob, I pulled open the door, and I slipped out all in one fluid motion.

It was like I was some super spy, tip toeing around my own house just to get to the backyard. I cringed a little at the somewhat loud sound of the door closing. I'd close it a little too hard. " _Yikes_ ," I whisper-yelled at myself. Then, glancing up, my eyes settled on Sweet Pea. I smiled, tilting my head as I leaned back into the door, "Well, hello, handsome."

"Hey, gorgeous," he smirked, taking a step toward me. "Happy birthday."

"That it is..."

My sarcastic comment was left hanging out in the air, forgotten, when he kissed me. I was getting used to having to rise up on my toes to kiss him back. It was short-lived but felt like it lasted much longer when he pulled away. "I have something for you," he whispered, staying close to me. I pushed off the door as he held up a small, square package wrapped in a purple-themed confetti paper. My teeth bit down on my bottom lip as I carefully took the gift from him.

My eyes moved from the package to his face, "This isn't going to explode, is it?"

"Only if you don't open it," he replied, with a smirk.

"Okay, okay, I'm opening it."

I leaned back on my heels, then slipped around him. My feet carried me just across the short porch to the tall banister with a light skip. As soon as I was within reach, I hopped up, pulling myself onto the thick top of the railing to sit. I'd had the enthusiasm and excitement of a small child tearing the paper to open the package. Sweet Pea walked across the deck, coming to stand to my right, leaning into the banister beside me.

There was always a lot of pressure on birthdays to react the right way to a gift. If you didn't show the right amount of happiness and thanks, the gifter might assume you didn't like what they gave you. But I didn't need to act the right reaction to this gift. It came to me naturally, lighting up my face in a way it hadn't in over a year. Unwrapping it left me with a black box. Opening the black box, revealed a one-inch silver snake on a matching chain.

The small snake made a curving S, but it was just curvy enough no one could possibly make any connections without a hard look at it. "Sweet Pea..." I was speechless, moving my eyes to meet his. The right corner of his mouth was curved up in a small smile. I exhaled, relaxing my shoulders. "Thank you _so_ much, I love it."

"Wanna put it on?"

I nodded quickly, "Yeah."

My fingers worked the chain out of the box and Sweet Pea took it, as I turned my back to him a bit, grabbing my hair in one large bundle to pull it out of the way. He put the necklace on me, securing the clasp a second at the nape of my neck. The chain wasn't too short but it wasn't super long. I'd had it on for all of one second before deciding it was my favorite piece of jewelry. It was the only piece of jewelry I would allow myself to wear in public.

Sweet Pea snaked his arms around me, pressing his lips to the side of my face. I twisted in his arms to sit straight on the banister. "It's perfect," I smiled up at him, still too short even on the railing. "But, how'd you even know it was my birthday?"

"Joaquin might have let it slip last weekend," he smiled, with a boyish sheepishness.

My hands slid onto his cheeks, and I tugged him close enough to kiss. It wasn't like our recent kisses—open, hungry, desperate. Instead it was deep, passionate, and loving. But, most notably, it was _soft_. A word that didn't look like it belonged anywhere near a Serpent, let alone two. The sound of the back door opening wasn't what pulled us apart, it was the voice that came along with it. It was undeniable who owned it, even before looking.

I should know—I'd spent a year and a half memorizing it. "Hey, Diana- whoa, um..." I lurched back out of pure surprise, startling hard at the unexpected voice. Archie stood just outside the back door, his eyes shifting quickly between Sweet Pea and me. This would be when I exclaimed something like 'this isn't what it looks like!' and beg him to keep his mouth shut. But my hands slid down to the upper arms of Sweet Pea's jacket, unmoving in every other respect.

"What are you doing here?" I questioned, narrowing my eyes a bit.

Archie swallowed, before clearing his throat, "Uh, nothing. It- it can wait. Sorry for...interrupting."

He looked like he'd just walked in on something R rated. Turning on his heels, he opened the door, and stepped back inside. As soon as the door was closed, Sweet Pea looked at me. "Who was that?" he asked, eyes narrowed in curiosity.

"Archie Andrews," I sighed heavily. "He wasn't supposed to be here, but I guess old habits die hard. I should go take care of that. I'm probably way past time anyway."

An eyebrow rose on Sweet Pea's forehead, "Time?"

"Jughead was supposed to cover for me for ten minutes. But that was mostly with my sister."

"Uh-huh," he nodded a little, glancing away a second. Then his eyes met mine again, corners of his lips quirking. "When am I gonna get to meet this elusive younger sister of yours?"

That was a question I wasn't prepared to truly answer. So I just smirked a little, pushing myself off the banister. My feet hit the wooden deck as I replied, "As soon as she's done being the Jillian Michaels of my birthday party." He chuckled at that, but I couldn't help feeling like it wasn't enough. None of this was enough. Not enough time, not enough words. It always felt too short.

When I made it inside to the living room, everyone was camped out in the living room eating pizza and playing charades with Cash. It looked like Cheryl had shown up while I was gone. Everyone was there except Archie and Jughead. My eyes scanned the room again just in case. But they definitely were not there. So I wandered to the kitchen. Sure enough, they were in there. Talking about something in hushed voices. Something that I'm pretty sure started with an _S_.

I stepped into the kitchen, causing them to startle into silence with a simple, "Hey."

My arms folded loosely over my chest, my hip leaning into the island. Archie looked from me to Jughead. Jughead looked like he'd been stuck between a rock and a hard place—at least, that was the face he made every time I made him choose either Han Solo or Indiana Jones to take to a deserted island. The argument was always that they were the same person so, technically, you were taking both if you only took one.

But then you could say that they both had very specific skill sets and the same actor doesn't mean the same character. We fought over it for at least three hours one night in my room, when we were supposed to be doing homework. Finally, Jughead sighed. "I'm not getting in the middle of this," he decided, shaking his head. "If you two need to talk about this—talk about it. But I don't want to be involved. Sorry, Archie."

Jughead walked around Archie and out the other doorway, leaving me and Archie alone in the kitchen. Archie sighed, eyes downcast, and my eyebrows knitted. "What's your problem now, Archie?" I asked, disinterested. He looked reluctant to speak. If I were him in that moment, I would have been, too.

Finally, after a quiet moment, he turned to me. "Diana, you've been acting weird lately. Hanging out with the Serpents, _dating_ one of them—you knew _FP_ was a Serpent the whole time," he said, in a hushed tone of exasperation. Exhaling, he calmed his demeanor a bit. "Look, I'm just worried. This isn't you. I don't even know where _you_ went."

"In the garbage, where you threw her," I answered, almost immediately.

"So, all of this is because we broke up?" he questioned.

"No, you dim-witted Ken doll. This has nothing to do with _you_ and everything to do with _me_. Maybe that's why you can't wrap your tiny brain around it? You're not my reason for living anymore, Archie. Take what you can get, and don't let the door hit you where the good lord split you," I said, pushing off the island.

His jaw was set, like he'd wanted to say more. But, luckily for him, he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he went straight to the front door and let himself out. It didn't stop the laughter and voices from the living room, though it did quiet them a bit. Typical, Archie. He thought I was still his business. That I was his property. That it was his job to look out for me when, if he'd been looking out for me when we were dating, he wouldn't have cheated on me.

I joined the group in the living room, sitting on the far arm rest of the couch, next to Kevin and Joaquin. Kevin sat on the couch, Joaquin on the floor leaning against the couch. I leaned across Kevin and snagged a slice of pizza from the pizza plate in between him and Betty. Cash and Veronica were trying to act something out, still playing charades. Veronica looked completely lost. But Cash was too determined to give up.

It caused the occasional laugh, with the more frequent giggle from the audience. I tried to act like I was okay. Even attempted to laugh at something I'd normally find funny. But it didn't sound right. It didn't seem like the sound was even mine. If I was being honest with myself, I would say I was losing it. But I was the world's biggest liar. And the biggest lie I ever told, was to myself.

* * *

I laid wide awake in my bed. Occasionally turning, trying to close my eyes. After a while, though, I stopped trying to move at all. Nothing was helping me sleep. It felt like I wasn't even tired. Maybe that's because I wasn't? My fingers played with the snake hanging from my neck. My eyes shifted across the dark room, stopping on the love seat. Jughead was out to the four winds. Nothing rarely woke Jughead up during the night.

Not even when I got up and left the house. I'd done that several times since he'd made my couch his permanent residence, and he never knew i'd left. At least, he never indicated that he knew. Blowing a sigh through my lips, I reached up, and grabbed my cell phone off my night stand. My thumb slid across the screen to unlock it, and I pulled up my messages.

 **ME: Hey. You awake?**

 **SP: Am now. What's up?**

 **ME: Come get me.**

 **SP: I'll be there in ten minutes.**

I locked the screen and pushed back my blanket. I'd crept out as quietly as I could, mostly just trying not to wake Killer. That dog seemed to be making a habit of sleeping on my bed with me at night. When a fly buzzed, he barked. It made for a harder time getting out. But I tip toed to the end of my bed, where i'd left my hoodie, and grabbed it before walking to the door. Without really needing to, I looked back to make sure Jughead was still asleep.

He and Killer were both snoring softly in their respective places. So I eased open my door, stepped out, and closed the door. The usual place Sweet Pea would pick me up was the street corner just down the block from my house. That way the noise from the bike wouldn't wake Ben, Cash, or Jughead. I walked to the corner with my hands in my pockets and waited. Sure enough, in just _less_ than ten minutes, Sweet Pea pulled up on his motorcycle.

He kicked down the stand, sitting back with a smirk. "Didn't your parents ever tell you not to take rides from strangers?"

"See, I distinctly remember my dad telling me only to take rides from strangers if they had the _good_ candy," I replied, with a small smile.

"Hop on," he tipped his head in a gesture toward the back of the bike. "Where are we going?"

My smile widened as I swung my leg over to climb onto the bike behind him, sliding my arms around his torso, "Just drive. I'll let you know when we get there."

That's how the night out late always started. It was a motorcycle ride into the dark, holding onto him with closed eyes as the cool breeze brushed my face and the hum of the motorcycle relaxed my muscles. It was the calmest thing i'd ever experienced. It never seemed to bother Sweet Pea—getting drug out of bed at one o'clock in the morning by his girlfriend. The ride never lasted too long. Just long enough to get my fix.

Then we'd pulled into Pop's small parking area. Pop's was never too busy at that hour. Mostly just people like Jughead, who frequently pulled all-nighters, either for insomnia or literary purposes. Sweet Pea and I dropped into a booth on the left, near the back—it was becoming our usual spot. I think Pop was the only person in this town that knew about nights like this for a long time. He always smiled at us, _both_ of us.

This time, he'd asked if he'd heard right that it was my birthday. I sunk back in the seat a little at his words. _Unbelievable_ , I'd thought. But Sweet Pea grinned beside me. Thinking it was funny how annoyed it made me to talk about my birthday, I was sure. "Yeah, it is," I told Pop. "Or, more like _was_."

"Well, it's still your birthday in my book. Your usual's on the house tonight," he smiled, happily.

I would've declined, but he left before I could. The usual order was an old fashioned vanilla milkshake to share and a basket of fries. Without thinking, I'd grabbed Sweet Pea's hand, bringing it toward me to examine the tattoo on his thumb. "You sure like putting your tattoos in highly visible places," I teased, turning my head to look up at him.

He just shrugged, smirking a little. "I like my ink."

"I wanted to get another tattoo, but dad wouldn't let me," I recalled, dropping his hand.

He'd taken back his appendage only to stretch it around me, loosely wrapping it around my middle. "What would you get?" he asked, curiously. I leaned back against his shoulder, humming as I thought about it. Quirking my lips, narrowing one eye. I honestly had thought about it in years. I'd only vaguely remembered my original idea after getting my Serpent tattoo—as if one wasn't painful enough.

Dad had said I was like my mother that way. She had many tattoos. Not all visible, but they were there, and each one meant something important to her. "A flower," I finally answered, with a singular nod. Upon his silence, I glanced up at Sweet Pea. His eyebrow was raised, looking at me with disbelieving eyes. I held up my right wrist, pointing to the spot I wanted it. "A little sweet pea, right there."

He seemed to get it then, huffing an airy chuckle as a wide smile came to his lips. "You'd get that tattooed on your body?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I asked, rhetorically.

Pop Tate brought us our order just then, briefly ending the discussion. I'd thanked Pop, and he'd said it was his pleasure, adding a happy birthday toward the end. Once he was out of earshot, I sat straight in my seat. Then I looked at Sweet Pea seriously. "Why wouldn't I get that tattoo?" I asked again, more seriously this time, like I actually meant it.

He exhaled, leaning back against the booth. I could tell I probably wasn't going to like what he was about to say, but I anticipated his next words all the same. Finally, his eyes met mine, and his features were plain. "Tattoos are forever. You can't just...wash them off if this isn't," he answered, tentatively.

And by 'this', he meant us. Our relationship. So, he wanted me not to get the tattoo in case we broke up in the end? Was that what he wanted to happen, or just what he was expecting? Prior experience in any form of relationship had made us both cautious in where we put our hearts. I didn't understand his experiences yet. But I would later. "Do _you_ want this to be forever?" I asked, surely, confidently. "Because _I_ do. If anything, I'm getting that tattoo just to prove it."

His blank lips turned into their signature smirk, his eyes lighting up—almost in awe. "You know that means I'll have to get another one."

"Wait- but I don't have a nickname. What's your tattoo going to be?" I asked, smiling in my curiosity.

"I'll think of something."


	16. 16: Colors

I carried my tray to the lunch table and dropped into the space to the right of Betty, coming into the conversation a bit late—but just late enough to hear the stupidest thing I had ever heard come out of Betty Cooper's mouth. "We should throw him one. Like a low-key surprise party," she said, smiling brightly.

My eyes had moved up from my plate as she said the last word, and they landed right on Archie's. We both seemed to have the same panicked expressions. I spoke up first. "No," I said, looking to Betty seriously. "Jughead doesn't do anything for his birthday for a reason—he doesn't like it. Why on earth would he like a surprise party?"

"Ignore the negativity," Veronica all but rolled her eyes beside me. She leaned forward to see around me spitefully, and my expression could only be described as a question— _excuse you?_ "Betty, you know me, any excuse to wear a cute party dress. Okay, so I'm thinking a quaint gathering. Inner circle only."

I cleared my throat pointedly, narrowing my eyes at the raven-haired demon beside me momentarily. "You guys have fun. But I'm gonna sit this one out."

"What? But you and Jughead are so close. It wouldn't be perfect without you," Betty pointed out. She looked slightly saddened at my declaration, turning toward me with a titled head and pouty expression. As if that was enough to sway me to the so-called dark side. But I sighed, responding the only way I knew how—honestly.

"Jughead is going to hate this, and I won't be apart of disrespecting his wishes by throwing a party with a group of people that— _obviously_ —don't know him at all."

With a sting settling into the silence that followed my words, I promptly stood up from the table, and took my tray elsewhere. No one was interested enough to try and stop me, but maybe that was because I'd made it impossible? I didn't want them to stop me. Because I knew I was right. For a long time, it was Jughead, Archie, and I going to the Bijou for a double feature. That was the only thing Jughead wanted to do for his birthday.

It wasn't hard to respect that, considering my birthday woes. Jughead was like my brother. I couldn't participate in doing something I knew would only frustrate him and not bring him anything else on his birthday. With Jughead's birthday always on the weekend following mine, we'd usually just eat leftover cake at three o'clock in the morning watching old Star Trek episodes on my bed. I'd been halfway to my locker from the lunch hall when Archie caught up to me.

"Diana!" he'd called, a few feet behind. Then, a hand on my shoulder, he said, "Hey- Diana. Look, I know Jughead doesn't like his birthday. But I think this would be good for _all_ of us."

I snorted, shrugging away from his hand, "Why? Because you ruined yet another perfectly good relationship for stupid reasons?"

His shoulders dropped as he sighed, giving me a look. But I couldn't help it. Did he really think word didn't get around? I'd known about his relationship with Valerie for a while. It was fine, seeing him moving on. After all, wasn't that what I was doing with Sweet Pea? But Val came to me earlier this week. She asked about Archie, what our relationship had been like. And that's when I knew she was really asking if she should break up with him.

It would seem that she did, considering they'd been avoiding each other for a couple days. "I get it, you want to help do something nice for him," I said, slightly changing the subject from his love life, because, frankly, I didn't care. "But this isn't it. He's going to be really unhappy about it, and I don't wanna be the one he's mad at."

"Yeah...well, I guess you always did know him better than I did," he hung his head a little as he walked, eyes downcast in thought.

"That's because we're like family. We _literally_ grew up together. Slumber parties? Forget it. It was a sleep over _week_. Can't find me? Check Jughead's trailer. Can't find Jughead? Check my house. We shared _everything_ —clothes, toys, food, books, secrets. Sometimes even parents," I smiled softly at the memory the explanation brought to me. "I would happily die for Jughead Jones."

Archie smiled, "Think he'd do the same?"

It was obviously rhetorical. So I only jutted my chin in a nod, refraining from using condescending sarcastic comments. "I _know_ he would," I answered, surely. "We're ride or die. And a surprise birthday party is the moment when I do the Charlie's Angels roll from the car and ride with Jughead. Sorry."

* * *

Knowing what the group was planning in advance made it difficult to be around Jughead and not say anything. Maybe this was the year Jughead actually liked celebrating his birthday because he had his friends? I would give it a chance, but I knew it would most likely back fire rather sharply. The plan was still to go to the Bijou with Jughead. But Betty had other ideas. She'd wanted to take him instead, so that the others could get Archie's house ready for the party.

It wasn't something I liked the idea of, missing this honored tradition. Betty, Jughead, and I stood around the island in my kitchen. The first feature started in thirty minutes and Betty was here to get Jughead. But Jughead couldn't understand why I couldn't go with them. "I'd be the awkward third wheel," I tried to explain. "I'm not third wheel material, Jug."

"Why can't you just get your boyfriend to come with us?" he asked, desperate at this point.

I knew he had to be _incredibly_ desperate to bring Sweet Pea into this. Even if it wasn't what he wanted, he knew involving him would get me involved, and I'd guessed that was worth it to him. Betty's eyebrows rose up on her forehead at that, her eyes moving to me, "Boyfriend?"

"You want me to bring a six-five, leather-wearing biker to a movie theater for a double feature with my anti-social best friend and his Malibu Barbie girlfriend?" I ignored Betty, asking my question rhetorically. It sounded ridiculous. But Jughead's eyes were pleading.

He titled his head, "Come on, Diana. We _always_ go together. It's not the same if you're not there to eat all my M&Ms."

My eyes moved to Betty's as I sighed. It was a silent ask for help. A begging for solution. She shrugged her shoulders, a little reluctant to speak. "If you don't want to feel like a third wheel...you can bring your boyfriend," she said, speaking lightly. Nodding her head in encouragement, even though I could tell she was nervous about it. "It can be like a kind of double date, then. I guess."

With a heavy sigh, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket. "Fine. But only because I love M&Ms, Juggie."

Jughead's slightly pouty lips perked up, curving into a smile as he chuckled once. It was astonishing—the change one word could make on a teenage boy's face. How drastically emotions contorted one's features when it involved someone they cared for. I'd known it was only me that made that change. But I'd chosen to ignore it, deep down. And I wished I hadn't. I wouldn't know just how much that one moment brought me closer to the moment my life ended.

I wouldn't know for a while yet. No one would. Because I'd kept that bit to myself. I'd texted Sweet Pea and asked him to meet me at the Bijou. Of course, I'd told him the details. I had to. We texted back and forth on the walk there—the whole time me telling him why this was so important. That I couldn't go without him. That I'd be in an incredibly awkward situation for roughly four hours with my best friend and his girlfriend, sitting there all alone—seemingly by myself.

He caved halfway there, and he was already parked out front when the three of us arrived. I could sense the hesitation in Betty as we approached. Getting closer to Sweet Pea, waiting, sitting on his motorcycle. Betty was holding onto Jughead's arm, walking in between us. The anxiety radiated off her in waves. I glanced at her and gave her a small nod. She seemed to understand what it meant, but it didn't look to change how she felt.

I walked a little faster, walking ahead of the others, heading straight for Sweet Pea. He stood to his full height when I neared him, hands in his hoodie's pockets. "This is going to be more awkward _with_ me here. I hope you know that," he said, as I stopped I foot from him.

My arms slid around his torso, inside the open folds of his hoodie, and I sighed. "That's the spirit," I tilted my head back to look up at him, smiling loosely. He pulled his arms from his pockets and put them around my shoulders in one fluid motion. "Just be cool. You're here for me—not them. They'll probably _ignore_ both of us the whole time. It'll be great. Come on."

My feet shuffled back and to the side a step, sliding my hand in his before giving it a tug as I started taking slow steps toward Jughead and Betty. They were waiting more near the door. Betty still didn't seem all too thrilled about this idea after all, but she smiled regardless. Probably more for Jughead than anything else. As we got within three feet of them, I spoke up. "Betty, this is my boyfriend Sweet Pea," I introduced, pulling him over to stand beside me. "Pea, this is Jughead's girlfriend—Betty Cooper."

"Hi. It's nice to meet you," Betty said, politely.

Sweet Pea wasn't wearing any Serpent logos, but his neck tattoo was _always_ visible. Maybe that was what made her seem to nervous when spoke? Or it could've been the intimidating height difference, his constant ready to fight expression, his muscles—pretty much everything else. He narrowed his eyes, "Cooper? Like Alice Cooper, that crazy North sider that writes the _Register_?"

My fingers tightened around his as I quickly glanced up at him, giving a shake of my head, "Sweets. Not here."

"Maybe we should get inside? Seats usually fill up fast on the weekends," Jughead suggested.

He was trying to calmly move us along, as to avoid any further comments. I'd agreed with him. But Betty looked even more uncomfortable than before, even a little offended, staring in shock at Sweet Pea's comment even as Jughead was pulling her along into the building with him. It was another awkward wrench thrown into the machine. We pressed on, getting our tickets and concessions, and finding an empty row of seats to claim.

Jughead's previous comment had been completely false. The Bijou definitely had its empty nights when hardly anyone walked by, let alone went in. Most of the seats were available when we got into the theater. Betty went into the row first, followed by Jughead—putting two people in between her and Sweet Pea. It was the best course of action considering all the things that could go wrong. It was so easy, so casual for Sweet Pea to drape his arm around me.

I'd even leaned into his side, that being the most comfortable option. But I'd never noticed how instinctual it was. How it was normal to lock my fingers with his, the hand draped off my left shoulder. Jughead and Betty looked just as cozy, turned toward each other in their seats, sharing a popcorn bucket. I lifted my leg, nudging the tip of my sneaker into Jughead's knee. He turned his head my way with a raised brow—his smile from looking at Betty still lingering. "Yeah?"

"Lemme know when you need to jump into someone's arms," I teased, hushing my voice sarcastically.

He snorted, rolling his eyes playfully, "Sweet Pea's probably the better option, if we're going for safety here."

"Okay, you can have him. Betty and I will move down a row to give you guys some space to run scared," I smirked.

Jughead turned toward me more, his eyebrows rising together in humorous disbelief, just as the lights were dimming. "Oh, is this a challenge? Are you _challenging_ me?" he asked, rhetorically. "If that's how it's gonna be—ten bucks says you don't make it to the end credits."

With the movie starting, I only mouthed my next words— _you're on_. As I settled into my seat, my shoulder against Sweet Pea's chest, he leaned his head down close to my ear. "Something tells me you've seen this movie before," he whispered.

I titled my head back to answer, eyes not leaving the screen, "Only a couple times."

"Uh-huh."

He sounded skeptical. But it was that playful, flirtatious skeptical that kept my lips tight in a grin for the rest of the movie. As it happened, I did not run scared. Nor did Jughead. Betty was the only making any kind of startles or jerks at intense scenes. We called it a draw, leaving the double feature early. Betty deemed it a necessary evil, something needed for a trip to Archie's. It was a lame excuse, but I was only half listening.

I'd been deeply discussing the realistic aspects of being a werewolf anywhere—not just in London. Sweet Pea was the one that started the conversation. But I took it a little too seriously, delving into details such as _what if you have to go to the bathroom? Do you go outside like a dog or inside like a man?_ , _If you're pregnant, do you have babies or puppies?_ , _do werewolves smell other werewolves' butts to say hello?_ , and finally, _if you ate dog food would you think it tasted good?_

They were logical arguments in my mind. But it was a conversation I would normally have with Jughead. So it surprised me when Sweet Pea had an answer for everything. Coming back with insightful solutions to each proposed problem. "I've never met a werewolf so I can't say for sure, but my best guess is that you act normal in human form," he said, as we followed Jughead and Betty out of the theater, his arm around my shoulders lazily. "You'd probably never have puppies because that really wouldn't make sense. But, then again, it could depend on what mythology you're basing it off."

It was entirely unexpected that he'd be entertaining this discussion. But he seemed genuinely interested in it, and it made me feel like what I was saying was important. I was talking about fake half-man, half-dog creatures that probably _did_ smell each other's butts to say hello. And yet it felt like I was talking about something big like global warming. It was disappointing that we had to split up. But it would not be a good idea to bring him to the surprise party.

Not a good idea at all, for everyone's sake. He started up his bike as I stood just a foot away, hands in my pockets, forcing my smile to stay present even in the sadness of his departure. "I'll call you later?" I'd said it like a question, but it really wasn't supposed to be one at all.

He turned his head to look at me, a smirk playing at his lips. "Not too late."

"What, you got a bed time now?" I teased, narrowing my eyes, to which he snorted, tossing his. "We could change it up tonight. Instead of going out, we stay in? My place? I've got two full seasons of _I Love Lucy_ and two more days before Ben gets back to Riverdale."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll be there at midnight."

He reached out, gripping the hips of my jeans, and gave the fabric a tug. My feet shuffled forward and my lips curved into a grin before meeting his. Jughead looked like he'd probably just finished rolling his eyes when I finally walked to him and Betty, where they waited just down the sidewalk. Betty looked like she was fighting a smile, averting her eyes as I arrived. We started walking, the three of us in a little trio, and it wasn't long before someone spoke.

I hadn't expected it to be Betty, or the sudden interest in her question. "How long have you two been together?" she asked me, leaning forward to see around Jughead. It was a staggering question. Because I'd expected to say it was a lot longer than it actually was. Truly, we'd only been together a short time. But it'd felt like years.

Inhaling, I answered, "Three months."

"You guys are really sweet," she commented, smiling kindly at me. "Like you should be a Nicholas Sparks movie."

"So, what you're saying is—you totally ship it?" Jughead smirked at her.

She chuckled a little. "Yes. I ship it."

The conversation had soon changed from her support of my relationship to something completely unrelated, mostly just to pass the time. Betty texted them when we'd been on our way. But we were at the house faster than I'd expected. My chest felt tight. It was anxiety, worry. This had so much potential to end badly. My plan had been to go home after we got to Archie's—just keep walking down the street until I got to mine.

But a part of me wanted to stay, just in case it actually went well. So I did. I entered the house last, after the group had already shouted happy birthday while flipping on the lights. "So this is why we left the double feature," Jughead said, a hint of dread to his tone despite the loose smile on his face. Archie came over to say happy birthday as I closed the door, hanging my jacket on the hook beside it.

My feet slowed their pace into the living room, eyebrow rising on my forehead, as I caught the tale end of Jughead's words when Archie pulled away from their bro hug. "Are you drunk?" Jughead asked, in disbelief. Archie quickly shook his head, downplaying it, but it honestly wouldn't have surprised me if he'd said yes. Veronica said something to Jughead in Spanish that I was pretty sure no one understood—so at least it wasn't just me.

"Oh, it's Kevin," Jughead sarcastically remarked, a bit under his breath, as Kevin swooped in for a hug.

"Happy birthday, man," Kevin said, before stepping back.

There was no denying that Jughead looked uncomfortable. He glanced around a bit. "Um, has anyone seen Betty?" he asked. Suddenly the lights dimmed out, just as Betty rounded the corner from the kitchen straight ahead. She was holding a cake full of lit candles, singing a slow and somewhat sultry rendition of the birthday song as she came closer. When she finished, she gave Jughead the cake, and told him to make a wish.

Given that I stood closer to Kevin and Joaquin than Betty, I hadn't heard what Jughead whispered in her ear before he blew out the candles. "One blow!" Kevin said. "Alright!" Jughead's eyes shifted over to mine in a straight line. There was a certain anxiety to them, an unspeakable sense of fight or flight, that I recognized. He wasn't okay with this. Not in the slightest. But he was trying, trying so hard to act like he was. Probably just for Betty's sake.

Veronica disappeared into the kitchen, and Archie aimlessly followed after her. I'd tried to give Jughead a look of reassurance. Or a look of _this isn't my fault, I told them not to but they did it anyway_. I wasn't so sure it came across as I'd planned, though. Betty and Jughead went into the kitchen to cut the cake and get ice cream. As they left the living room, I held out my hand to the only person in the room I didn't recognize.

"I'm Diana," I introduced myself. "Birthday-boy's honorary big sister."

She immediately shook my hand, smiling politely. "I'm Ethel, Veronica's friend."

"Nice to meet you," I smiled back, letting go of her hand.

"Likewise."

She nodded in agreement. The guest list seemed very odd-ball. And it wasn't very inner circle as Veronica had previously mentioned. On an exhale, I excused myself, and went to the kitchen. But, two steps in, I realized i'd walked into an argument between Betty and Jughead. From what I could tell, it was about the choice in birthday plans. So I stayed back, staying out of the way.

"Why is everything so doom and gloom with you, Jug?" Betty asked. "Why can't it just be normal for once?"

"I'm not normal. I'm not _wired_ to be normal," Jughead quickly defended.

It was literally saved by the bell. The doorbell rang out across the house, and Archie went to answer it. "How many more people did you invite to this thing?" Jughead questioned Betty, accusingly. He was clearly not impressed, and she was starting to get what I'd been telling her all along.

"No one!" she immediately answered. "Inner circle only."

I sighed, nearly rolling my eyes as I followed Jughead to the door. You could hear the music booming in through the walls before the door was even opened. But, when it did, Cheryl walked in. Along with football players carrying kegs, with a large crowd on the porch. "Did you really think you could have a party without inviting _moi_?"


	17. 17: Hold On

Moose asked Archie where he'd wanted the kegs. My steely glare was on the red-haired demon, but it didn't seem to matter much. Because Archie's lips broke into a wide smile, and he replied, "One in the kitchen, one in the backyard!" And that's when all the people here to party began to cheer. And it's when Jughead flooded with disappointment and started for the back door. Unwanted guests started pouring in and the sound of disgust I'd made was easily drowned out by the noise.

I turned on my heel, and headed for the garage. It was the one place of refuge among this train wreck of an idea. And it was the one place I found Jughead. He sat in the plush chair next to the couch, scratching behind Vegas's ear. The dog sat beside the chair, looking just about as alone as I was sure Jughead was feeling, when I walked in. Jughead's eyes looked up. "Hey," he said, all emotion void.

"Hey," I replied, sighing. I took steps toward him. "I'm really sorry, Jughead."

"Did you know about this? About what was going to happen tonight?"

It wasn't as accusatory as it sounded. It came out sounding more curious than anything. I dropped into his lap, swinging my legs up over the large arm rest of the chair, blowing a puff of air through my lips. The music was obnoxiously pouring in through the open door of the garage. But I tried my best to tune it out.

"Yeah. I honestly tried to stop them, but...I don't know...I thought maybe- maybe you'd actually like something on your birthday this year. I know it's a stupid thought—you never like to do anything on your birthday. I really thought Betty was actually going to keep it inner circle," I explained, gently.

He sighed. "It feels like we're in the middle of a Seth Rogen movie."

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

I'd nodded a little, before dropping my head onto his shoulder. He was quiet a short moment. Even without looking, I could tell he was deep in thought. And then, he spoke, putting me in a position I'd never thought of being in before then. "It's just so...not me. Why would Betty do this?" he questioned, slightly just thinking out loud.

"I don't know. You're her boyfriend now, Jug. And you know Betty—she wanted to do something nice. She just didn't really think it through," I answered, slowly. Then, pulling up my head, I used a bit of a more upbeat tone. "But, hey- at least now she knows what _not_ to do next year."

"How do you do it, Diana? How do you act so happy on your birthday?" he asked, finally meeting my eyes.

I sat up a little, gathering my words. I'd never been asked that question. Mostly because the only person that knew every year that I was faking, was Jughead. "I tell myself it's for Cash. I'd rather be in physical pain than see her cry, I guess," I shrugged. A sudden knock on the garage's wooden door caused me to startle, twisting to see it behind me.

FP was slowly entering the small building, something tucked under his arm. A present. There was something off about his expression. A certain shade of something resembling awareness. It was in his eyes—how they flickered between Jughead and I. Like he'd interrupted something more than what it really was. But it changed as soon as he spoke.

"Happy birthday, Jughead," he said, stopping a few feet from the chair. I pushed myself off, standing up. Jughead got up the second I was off. He seemed just as surprised as I was to see FP, of all people, here at Archie's house. "I didn't know you had this many friends."

"I don't," Jughead shook his head. "Fair warning—you're the only adult here."

"So I gather. Where can I put this?" FP held up the present.

I gestured toward the house with a hand, "There's a table. In the den."

He nodded, and suddenly that shade of awareness flushed back to his face, this time accompanied by something else—warning. He started out of the garage, saying he'd be back, and disappeared into the crowd. "What was that about?" Jughead asked, just as clueless as I was. I'd opened my mouth to speak. But, as soon as I had, Betty stepped into the open doorway of the garage. And suddenly the temperature in the room dropped a degree.

I excused myself then—saying it was to get a drink—and quickly ducked outside. I'd wanted to stand up for Jughead. But he needed to have this conversation with Betty by himself. He needed to fight at least some of his battles on his own. I wandered from the garage and into the house. It was a struggle, fighting the sea and crowded spaces to get to an empty spot. I was a bit surprised to find FP and Joaquin in the kitchen.

There was no trace of Kevin where they leaned their lower backs into the counter, watching Ethel cut and serve cake at the island. Crossing my arms, I walked over to the Serpents in civilian clothing. "You two look cozy," I sighed, commenting sarcastically. The words drew their attentions to my presence.

"Could say the same for you and Jughead a few minutes ago," FP replied, sliding his hands into his pants pockets. "There's, uh...nothing going on there—is there?"

My eyebrows furrowed. "Me and Jughead? How high _are_ you?"

FP almost— _almost_ —rolled his eyes at me. Joaquin responded, smirking. "Five-nine, depending on the fast food joint," he commented. Then it was my turn to almost roll my eyes as I huffed a chuckle. Ethel offered me cake, but I politely declined, blaming it on my athlete's diet. Even though, Lord only knows I never had a diet plan. Then Joaquin poked fun, saying something about me going soft. To which FP warned him to watch his next words.

It was surprising, but it was nice. FP really was stepping up. Acting like a father. Still only to the wrong man's child, but he was making visible steps. It happened in a second. Jughead had entered the house, come through the living room and into the kitchen. He dodged Ethel's cake offering to say he was basically ditching his own party. My eyebrows drew together in concern at the agitation in him.

I hurried forward, grabbing his arm to stop him from leaving the kitchen. And he turned on me with such fury—the kind I had never seen from Jughead Jones in all of his existence. "Nice job, Diana. You couldn't have- oh, I don't know- given me a head's up? Or maybe tried harder to keep this from happening?" he spat at me, his tone in an almost whisper-yell. "You're like my _sister_ —you're supposed to make sure things like _this_ don't happen on my birthday."

"Jug, I told you- I tried!" I instantly replied, my head recoiling from the force of his words.

His eyes were dark, words almost venomous, "Yeah, well, you didn't try hard enough, did you?"

His heated gaze bore into me with such intensity—I thought mine might actually burst into flames. _If looks could kill_ , my mom would have said. But he was right. I could have, and should have, tried harder. Then you have to ask, wouldn't Veronica have pushed Betty to do it anyway all the same? Apparently Jughead wasn't thinking like that. He wasn't thinking of reality.

Jughead was too full of anger to see anything other than my biggest failure. And he was taking it as a betrayal. The funny thing was—that's how it felt to me, too. "Jughead...I'm _sorry_ -" I choked on the last word, stopping myself when my voice cracked. I was about to cry. I could feel it creeping up in my throat, the water surging into my eyes. This couldn't have been happening—and yet it was. Jughead only shook his head with a heavy sigh as he pulled free from my hand on his arm.

He promptly left the kitchen. Leaving me in stunned and emotional silence. His outburst was not only unexpected and uncharacteristic, but it cut into my chest like a sharp butcher's knife. All hopes I'd had for that night deflated with my shoulders. Just another thing to leave me. It'd felt so final. It'd felt like the end. Like Jughead and I had just broken up. And this time, I was the one getting dumped.

* * *

 **WARNING:  
THE FOLLOWING CONTENT MAY BE STRONGLY TRIGGERING. IF YOU HAVE/HAVE HAD THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE OR SELF HARM, PLEASE MOVE ON TO THE NEXT CHAPTER, WHERE YOU WILL BE FILLED IN ON THE PREVIOUS PARTS MORE MILDLY. PLEASE USE CAUTION.**

* * *

It was safe to say that my will to live was shattered that night. Whatever piece I had left of it, anyway. I'd left the party shortly after Jughead stormed out of the kitchen. There was no reason for me to be there after that—especially since my one reason for being there in the first place had left. My feet had taken me straight to Ben's.

My life had been one big mistake after another. That much was clear. I'd shut Killer out of the bedroom, gone to the bathroom and turned on the light. My mistakes were evident on my face as I looked into my own eyes in the mirror. There was pink in the skin around my eyes, my cheeks puffy, covered with dried tears. I hadn't tried hard enough. Jughead was right. Except I didn't just not try hard enough with him. I didn't try hard enough with everyone.

I hadn't tried hard enough with my parents in begging them to stay that Sunday morning two years ago. I hadn't tried hard enough to get Jason safely out of Riverdale and he died in the following days of my mistake. I hadn't tried hard enough with Archie—he fell in love with someone else because I wasn't good enough for him anymore. And I hadn't tried hard enough for Jughead. The one person in my life I couldn't stand to lose...left.

And that was enough. The moment my life began to end was coming full circle. It started to end on my front porch. It would end in my bathroom. Being the type of girl that liked shaving, I had a razor on the side of the tub. And to have a razor, you needed extra blades. Those blades were always stored in the small cupboard inside the mirror. I dug out the unopened box of blades and set them on the counter. All I could do was look at them.

For a long moment, I just thought. I thought about the things leading to this moment. I'd wondered if it was enough to take my own life. Little did I know that the real answer to this question was always, with absolutely no exception, no. Right then, in that moment, seeing my life in a box of razor blades—i'd told myself the answer was yes. It was all too much. Hiding from myself and everyone I ever loved. Pretending to be someone else.

I couldn't remember the last time I felt comfortable walking around as me, not this North side rendition of whatever in the world I used to be. And that was enough for me. Cash would be safe with Ben. With my death, there'd be no way he wouldn't feel guilty enough to keep her around and take care of her. Maybe Jughead would help sometimes? He knew how much I'd cared about my sister. I'd dropped my weight onto the floor.

My back was against the wall, opposite from the toilet a few feet away, a small blade in my open palm. I gripped the blade between my fingers in my left hand and held up my right wrist. That's when I stopped myself. Earlier this week, i'd gotten a small sweet pea bloom tattooed on my right inside wrist. It was closer to the base of my thumb. The image brought me to tears. It was a searing pain in my chest, the feeling of helplessness.

A strangled sob escaped me. I'd had no choice. There was no way to escape this web of lies i'd been spinning for two years. That's what I told myself as my hands began to shake. I gripped the blade tighter and I pressed the sharp edge into my skin. Pain immediately followed, causing more tears to fall from my eyes, but my desperation kept me pressing. I'd cut a deep line across the width of my wrist. Blood was coming through.

It trickled off my wrist and onto my clothes. But I didn't care. My body was in pain, but it was overtaken by a numbing determination to finish it. So I switched hands and began cutting my left wrist. It was jagged, uneven, from the trembling of my entire body. When I finished was when I knew—there was no going back. And it came to me then, all the people that would miss me. But it was too late. I'd already died in my heart.

Why not die everywhere else? I killed the one thing I might've had left after all of this. Myself. Hot, sharp pain was pulsating up my arms as I dropped the blade in the tub beside me. I sat back against the wall, taking deep breaths. It wouldn't be long. An overwhelming sense of guilt sent my hand into the front pocket of my sweatshirt. Blood was covering everything I touched. But I didn't care. I'd pulled out my cell phone and typed in a familiar number.

I'd sniffled hard to try and stop myself from crying further, waiting while the phone rang in my ear. I could feel it. Dizziness. Nausea. I was dying. Finally the other end clicked, but it was a voicemail. It beeped, letting me know I could start talking. So I did. "Hey, it's me. I just wanted you to know...no matter what happens- I love you," I spoke into the phone. My voice sounded like a tin can, shaking violently almost to a fault. "I've wanted to say that for so long, but this is my last chance. So don't forget that, okay? I...I love you so much. But it's better this way. And someday, you'll understand."

That's when I stopped. The moment I ended the call. Then I sat there on my bathroom floor, bleeding from both wrists, and I cried.

* * *

It was just after midnight. Sweet Pea made it to Diana's front door. It was odd, being so close to the front of the house. He'd never made it this close to the door before. Usually if he'd wanted in, he'd have to climb the trellis and knock on her window. But, this time, he was knocking on her door. A small voice came from the other side, "I'm coming!" It'd sounded like a child. Because it was. Cash was in the living room, watching cartoons.

Normally, she'd be in bed long before then. But it was the start of the weekend. Diana hadn't come to get her for bed time, so she'd stayed up as long as she could that night. She unlocked the door, pulling it open. It was unexpected to see such a tall man outside her door. But she noticed his tattoo, his leather jacket, almost immediately. And before he'd said a word, she'd pulled open the door fully. "Come on in," she said, relaxed in tone. "Diana's room is upstairs."

What was more unexpected, was the easiness of getting inside. But Sweet Pea went in, and Cash closed the door behind him. She promptly went back to the couch and jumped onto the cushion. Sweet Pea stood there in a stunned silence for a moment, eyes narrowed at the back of her head in curiosity. "Did Diana tell you I was coming?" he asked.

"No," she shook her head, twisting around to see him over the back of the couch. "But you're a Serpent, right?"

He nodded, though still confused. "Do you always open the door for Serpents?"

"Yeah. They don't come by as much as they used to, now that we live here. But Serpents are family so I let them in."

Sweet Pea took steps toward the stairs, shooting one last comment over his shoulder at the nine year old, "You've got to be careful with that, kid."

She seemed to ignore him, too invested in the plot twist of her cartoon to really listen anymore. Sweet Pea shook his head with a sigh, and continued up the stairs to Diana's room. He'd knocked once before he entered. There'd been no immediate response. But, what was more curious, was Diana's absence. Then he noticed it—the light pouring from beneath the closed bathroom door. There was no sound, only light.

He hadn't given it a second thought at first. But after a long moment of quiet, sitting on the chest at the end of her bed, he began to worry. So he stood and walked across the room to the bathroom door. His knuckles connected with the wood twice before he spoke. "Babe, you in there?" he asked, through the door. There was no response that followed, so he tried again. "Diana? Is everything okay?"

Nothing changed. The silence remained the same. He hadn't wanted to interrupt if it was something serious, or she needed to be alone. But something wasn't right about this. It hadn't seemed right since he walked in the bedroom door. Out of curiosity, he tried the knob. It wasn't locked. The knob turned, and the door opened. As the back of the door hit the wall, his heart moved into his throat, his eyes becoming as round as a full moon with sudden panic.

Diana was in the bathroom. But she lay still, sitting limply against the wall. It looked like she'd fallen to the right against the tub. What scared him was the red. Dark crimson covered the floor, her clothes, the side of the tub—it was everywhere. "No, no, no, no, no," he mumbled under his breath, surging forward. He nearly slipped in the red, but caught himself, dropping to his knees beside her body. "Diana? Diana, baby, come on."

His arms encircled her, pulling her unconscious body into his lap. The deep wounds on her wrists were all he could see. Desperately, he gripped both of her wrists, covering the wounds with his hands and squeezing tightly. It was an odd sensation. The blood from her wounds seeping through his fingers. There was no thrum of a pulse against his skin. And maybe there wasn't one. Maybe that was why the blood wasn't rushing out, just draining?

"Cash! Cash, get up here!" he shouted. It wasn't the best option. But it was all he had to work with. It took a moment for Cash to get up the stairs and into Diana's room. It was odd to hear his voice coming from the bathroom as she crossed the room.

Her face contorted in confusion, she arrived at the open bathroom. "What?" she questioned, before her eyes saw the gruesome scene. Then she gasped, concern causing immediate tears to fall from her eyes, onto her small rosy cheeks. "Diana! Wha- is she okay? What happened?!"

"She got hurt- you need to get a phone and call nine-one-one," he spoke quickly, trying to stay as calm as he could in front of Cash. "Go, Cash— _go_!"

Cash sprinted from the bathroom, through the bedroom, and down the stairs. The only phone she knew of to use was in the kitchen. It was positioned on the wall above the counter, next to the refrigerator. A place she could not reach. But she dragged a chair in from the dining room to use as a stool to get up. When she climbed up to the counter, and took the phone off the wall, her hands were shaking. As small as they were, they were trembling.

She pushed the nine once and the one twice and held the phone to her ear. When the operator answered the call, her panicked words came out in a rush. "My sister's hurt—there's blood everywhere! You have to hurry, please, we need help!" The operator tried to calm Cash down to get something more coherent out of her, all the while sending medics to the address.

Sweet Pea held onto Diana for dear life, hands clamped down around her wrists. This was the scene no one saw that night. It was the broken boy, holding the dying girl, hoping that holding her tightly enough would keep her alive. It was the shaking, the near-tears. His voice trembling as he begged her to stay. "Don't leave me, Diana," he pleaded. "Don't you dare leave me."


	18. 18: Unsteady

I didn't know what I expected to happen when sleep finally took me. But, what I knew not to expect, was waking up. And that's exactly what I did. My eyes felt like they'd been glued shut when they finally cracked open. As they settled on the white ceiling, a soft beeping filling my ears, I knew I had failed. I knew I'd survived. This wasn't the afterlife—it was a hospital.

Immediately, my blood began to race and my body started moving. Shaking my head, my fingers grasping at the needle in my left arm, my feet fidgeting. Mumbling a string of incoherent, panicked 'no's. I'm sure I'd looked like a patient in a mental institution about to have a nervous breakdown. Because, in all reality, I was. I'd ripped the IV out before a large hand swallowed mine, stopping me cold. My eyes rounded as they moved up.

Landing right on Sweet Pea. He was leaning forward in the chair beside my bed, carefully gripping both my arms to hold me still. It was working just out of sheer shock. "Hey, hey- stop. What are you doing?" he asked, tentatively. I couldn't speak. Instead, my eyes dropped down to his hands. There was a certain pink tinge to his tan skin that I knew in my heart was a blood stain. His hands were warm against my skin. It made me feel like i'd been in the arctic my whole life.

Like it was the first time I was feeling warmth. "It wasn't...why...why- why am I here?" I questioned, moving my eyes to his face. They were still wide and rounded, my body gaining a slight tremble. What was coherent of my brain felt numb. It was one giant haze of the entanglement of my thoughts.

"Why are you here?" his eyebrows rose upon repeating my words. "You're here because you almost _died_ , Diana."

"No, no, no- this wasn't supposed to happen..." I pulled my arms back and they slipped from his hands. And then I saw them. The bandages on my wrists. I held them up, palms skyward, and all I could do was stare at them. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to be found. The pain I'd fallen asleep to, bleeding out in my bathroom, came back in one bone-crushing wave. And I cried. It was an ugly, strangled sob that racked my whole body.

There was no way to get it back. It was my one chance to end all of this pain, all of these lies. And I'd failed. I'd failed again. "I wasn't supposed to live!" I sobbed, pulling at the bandage on my right wrist with an aching desperation. Sweet Pea reached for me again, grabbing me tighter this time, and I stopped only for the sake of my own tears.

He moved swiftly from the chair to the edge of the bed, most likely to better hold me still—once again holding my forearms. "Stop- Diana, _stop_ it," there was a certain rasp, a certain ache to his voice that made my water-filled eyes moved to meet his. They were filled with intensity as they searched mine. "Why are you doing this? What happened? You were happy the last time I saw you—just last night."

"You- you don't understand, Pea. My parents, Jason, Polly getting locked up, Jughead—it's all my fault. I can't _do_ this anymore! I can't...I can't keep lying to everyone, acting like none of it has anything to do with me," I tried to explain, holding back the tears as much as I could.

His eyebrows knitted softly, "Jason made his choice, so did Polly. And your parents? You couldn't have stopped that. But what happened with Jughead?"

I'd deflated, dropping my shoulders, relaxing the muscles that were taut in my arms. "Jughead hates me," I answered, on a hiccup. "The way he looked at me...he's never going to talk to me again. I'm such a failure."

"Don't say that," he shook his head.

"Sweets, I'm a _terrible_ person. I lie to everyone I love every day of my life. And _this_?" I held up a wrist in a gesture. "Look at me—I failed to kill myself! I can't even do _that_ right!"

"You couldn't kill yourself because I found you on your bathroom floor, in a pool of your own blood."

My features drooped with guilt. His expression was pained. Like it physically hurt to say those words. And maybe they did. Maybe that was why his under eyes were purple, the edges of them tinged pink? Maybe the one thing I hadn't accounted for when plotting my sudden death was sitting right in front of me trying not to cry? I was taken aback, to say the least.

My eyes welled up again as I slowly shook my head. "I'm so sorry, I _never_ thought it would be you."

"Does it matter who it was? Diana, I..." he stopped himself suddenly, lips parted as though he'd wanted to say more. His hands relinquished their hold on my arms and instead found a place to rest on my cheeks. My fingers gripped at the arms of his jacket to keep myself steady. His eyes were glistening—even in the dimly lit hospital room. "I almost lost you. I thought I would never see you again."

There was a crack in his voice, and I could've sworn I saw a tear racing down his tanned cheekbone. But I didn't much pay attention. I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his neck. He held onto me tightly, so tightly I thought I might not be able to breathe. His face was pressed against the skin of my neck, and I slid a hand into his hair. "I'm sorry," I whispered it out. "I never wanted to leave you- i'm so sorry, Sweet Pea."

It was in that moment I knew when I asked myself if it was worth it, that I'd given the wrong answer. It was not worth it. It wasn't worth this. It wasn't worth the shaking boy I held in my arms, holding onto me as though I were about to disappear. When we'd finally parted some time later, I'd learned that Cash was sleeping on a love seat on the other side of the room. She'd come to the hospital with Sweet Pea awake originally, but fell asleep after an hour of waiting to see me.

Even after sleeping for so long, all I wanted to do was sleep more. So Sweet Pea took off his jacket, getting comfortable with his shoulders against the pillows, relaxed along the length of the bed. And I laid my head on his chest where I snuggled in against his side beneath the blanket, his arm remaining reassuringly around me. I was not okay. Not at all. But it felt like I stood a chance with him holding me like that, his heart thumping softly in my left ear.

A wave of calm covered me as the sound filtered in, and I let my eyes close. That was the beginning of a new end. But it was not like the first. The first ending was the ending of my life. This ending was the ending of a different life—the life i'd created for myself in order to keep my sister. It was still a possibility that I could lose Cash. But I could not keep up this act. And It was going to finally end.

* * *

My eyes fluttered open to the sound of a sigh, followed by a whispering of words. In my groggy state, I couldn't tell what was said, but I knew it was Sweet Pea. He was still with me and I was still snuggled tightly into his side where i'd fallen asleep. The light in the room seemed brighter as I tried to keep my eyelids from closing again. "Pea?" My voice was so small, I was surprised he'd heard it.

His body shifted beneath me, "I'm here."

"Is she awake?"

That was a third voice. One so unique, so familiar, that I knew almost instantly that it was Cash. I lifted my head just slightly, just enough so see over Sweet Pea's chest. And, sure enough, it was Cash. She looked overly-excited and bubbly standing beside the bed. "Hey, Cash," I greeted, forcing my voice into a louder volume to better be heard.

Cash gasped. She was leaning against the edge of the bed in a millisecond, throwing half her body across Sweet Pea to wrap her arms around me. I groaned a little out of instinct. But I hugged her back as best I could in the awkward position. Sweet Pea was trapped in the middle of a Cassidy sandwich, but I don't think he minded. When she finally pulled away, she'd asked what happened—why I was bleeding so much.

I told her the truth. There was no way the first thing I did after coming back from the dead would be telling a lie—especially not to my sister. I said it in simpler terms. That I was hurting and I had been for a while, and I got confused and made a mistake. But I made it clear that I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. It went better than I expected. She didn't act hurt. She was only worried about me and if I was okay now. When I told her I was in fact okay, she gave a sigh of relief.

"Good. I'm not sure how much longer I could've waited," she said. "I'm _starving_."

A small chuckle escaped me, and the first genuine smile of this new life came to my lips. I tipped my head back to look up at Sweet Pea, who shifted his eyes from Cash to me in response. "Why don't you guys go get breakfast at Pop's?"

Any kind of good emotion on his features seemed to pause in hesitation. It wasn't hard to tell what he was thinking. That maybe, just maybe, if he left me alone I would try to hurt myself. But that honestly had not been my intention in suggesting they leave. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," he replied.

I'd pushed myself up more into a sitting position and freed my left arm, resting my elbow against the pillow beside his shoulder as my fingers slid into his hair. "I'm not leaving you again," my voice was quieted, calm, but full of certainty. "I'll be right here, waiting for you, when you get back. I promise."

He still seemed a bit hesitant, but his features relaxed as he tipped his head, bringing his lips forward to meet mine. It was a gentle, soft gesture. One that spread a welcomed warmth through my veins. When he pulled away, I smiled softly at him. "Go, before Cash has an aneurysm." My eyes moved to the right, landing on Cash, where she was bouncing on her heels beside the bed. Sweet Pea sighed lightly as he untangled from me and slid off the bed.

It wasn't what I'd wanted, him leaving. But making Cash suffer through an empty stomach just so I could keep cuddling was too selfish. So I kept my small smile present until they'd gone. Then, relaxing into the pillows, I sighed. It felt odd to be alone. With nothing but the soft machine beeping. The sound caused me to glance down at my left arm. Sometime during my slumber, a nurse must've put the IV back in. Because, there it was, taped to the underside of my forearm.

The cotton bandages wrapped around my wrists were a bit like wearing bracelets. But they felt wrong, like my body knew they shouldn't be there. "Diana," the sudden voice startled my head up, my eyes landing on the form—no, _forms_ —moving into my room. "Oh, thank goodness."

It was Betty, Veronica, Kevin, and Archie. They all wore worried expressions of concern. My eyebrows drew together. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We're so sorry we weren't here sooner," Archie said, as they came to a stand still beside my bed.

"The party got really weird after you left. We didn't get your boyfriend's messages until this morning," Kevin explained, his tone full of guilt. "But we're _so_ happy you're okay."

Having all of them there, in the room, made me feel a bit overwhelmed with self-awareness. How I must've looked, how I must've sounded. I didn't know how much they knew about why I was here. But the bandages on my wrists would tell them enough. "It's okay, really. Don't feel bad," I said, my features sunken into a dry attempt at upbeat.

Veronica surprised me, dropping onto the edge of the bed by my ankles. "Diana, if you need anything—anything at all—we're here for you."

My fingers fidgeted with the blanket over my knees, my heart beating fast enough to make me a bit anxious. I took in a breath at her words. They were unexpected, but appreciated. Though I wouldn't feel comfortable yet coming to _all_ of them for emotional support, it was a kind gesture. "Thanks, you guys," I glanced at all of them in turn, before settling my eyes on the blanket. "Have any of you heard from Jughead? Or FP?"

"We haven't talked to Jughead since the party last night," Archie answered.

His voice sounded disappointed, empty. Like he, too, felt like he was responsible for last night's tragedy. I nodded a little. It was to be expected. If Sweet Pea used my contacts to get ahold of people, Jughead would've seen my caller ID, and he would have turned it off.

Betty took a step forward, causing me to glance up, "We haven't talked to FP, but Sweet Pea said he called him and left a message. Also, Diana...I just want to say I'm really sorry. I should've listened to you when you said it was a bad idea. But I didn't and, maybe if I had, you wouldn't have done what you did-"

I'd immediately shaken my head. "No, Betty, don't," I stopped her, interrupting. "I hurt myself because of a lot of reasons. But none of them were named Betty Cooper. Okay?"

She nodded, but stepped forward again, bending to wrap her arms around me. And I'd hugged her back just as tightly as she'd hugged me. Betty and I had never been too close. But it'd felt like she was trying to be closer to me since she and Jughead started really getting serious. It was nice. Spending time with her, having her support.

When she stepped back, chuckling awkwardly a little, Kevin glanced between us. Then he held out his arms, stepping toward me. "Okay," he said, seriously. "Now _I_ need a hug." I laughed and opened my arms, wrapping my arms around him after he put his arms around me. Veronica stood up from the bed.

She smiled, clapping her hands together once, "Me next!"

"Ugh, guys," I whined, sarcastically. "Can't you be like normal friends and act like you don't care?"

"Sorry, Diana, but you're stuck with us," Betty nodded, smiling brightly.

When Kevin stepped back and moved away, sure enough, Veronica came up to me next. I hugged her, too. Despite all we'd been through with boyfriend woes and my bitter stubbornness, it felt like a true reconciliation, the start of an actual friendship between us. She moved back after a moment and sidled into the group. The last person standing left to hug was Archie Andrews.

My eyes moved to his, catching them before they could look away. Inhaling, I made a motion with my hand. "Get over here, Arch," I decided. Then, adding seriously, "Before I change my mind."

A closed-mouthed smile broke out across his lips and he didn't hesitate to come forward. This was not a true forgiveness, or a truly forgotten grudge. I still held my own personal dislikes of Archie. But when he put his arms around me in a hug, I hugged him back regardless. It felt good. It felt good to touch people. To feel alive. His hug didn't last as long as the others. He'd stepped away after a short moment.

But it was enough. The only person I'd truly wanted to hug, wasn't there. So hugging everyone else in his place would have to do. Then I heard it. Just as Archie was moving back from the bed, a voice came from closer to the door. All heads turned, all eyes moved—all in pure surprise. My heart shot up into my throat as I breathed in sharply at his appearance.

Jughead stood in the doorway to the room. He looked to be frozen there, in that place, his eyes aimed at mine. He was in shock of the scene. That much could be told by his expression alone. No one said anything for a moment. No one could. My eyes began to sting looking at him, watering up. There was a certain shade of guilt, a shade of pain on his features, that I recognized. Suddenly he was moving, walking toward me.

As he got closer, the pink tinting the corners of his eyes and the glistening sheen across them became visible. He was just about as ready to cry as I was. It became clear what he was going to do moments before he did. I opened my arms, just before his arms went around my neck and shoulders, and I held onto him tightly—almost as tightly as he was holding onto me. He buried his face in my shoulder but I could tell he was crying by the tremble of his body.

The muffled sniffling, uneven footing. Holding onto him, breathing him in, made the small start of tears turn quickly into chest-aching sobs. "I'm sorry, Diana," Jughead's voice was incredibly muffled, slightly distorted, but I could make out his words well enough. "I'm so _sorry_."

I sniffled hard, calming myself down, as I rubbed my hand across his shoulder blades soothingly. "It's okay, Jug- it's okay. I'm okay."

"But you almost weren't. I shouldn't have said those _terrible_ things-"

My hands moved to his shoulders, pushing him away enough to see his face, and then they slid to his cheeks to force him to look at me. It worked, though his cheeks were wet as his lower lip quivered. "I forgive you, Jughead. Okay? I _forgive_ you," I spoke with a strong voice, but I was holding back a tumbling wave of water. "I'm here. You're here. That's all that matters to me."

A sudden wave of emotion overtook him, and he fell into me, hugging me again, with tightly closed eyes. I sniffled hard and rested my left cheek against his shoulder, my hand resuming its soothing motion across his shoulder blades. With the new position, I could see the others in the room. They remained quiet through Jughead and my reunion. But Kevin and Archie looked slightly saddened, moved. And both Veronica and Betty had glistening eyes.

None of them had seen Jughead Jones in crumbles. But I had. I had seen it a few times. Many nights, he would break down. It was always when talking about his family. Not being able to see his sister, or his mother. How his father never was around when he needed him. A crying session would always end with us curled up against the pillows, his head against my chest, arms around my torso—and I would just hold him. It was the only reassurance I could offer that seemed to do any good.

After a moment, Jughead pulled himself together—for the most part—and pulled away. He wiped the water away from his cheeks with his jacket sleeves and sniffled. Then his eyes settled on my lap—more specifically, the bandaged wrists resting on it. "Do they hurt?" he asked, quietly. Slowly, gently, he plucked my right arm off my lap and took it into his hands, bringing my wrapped wrist against his chest—sliding his fingers through mine, all in one fluid motion.

I shook my head, wiping my under eyes with my other wrist. "Not anymore. I've got pain killers in my system."

He nodded a little, mostly to himself, as his eyes fell downcast. I was sure that it felt awkward for the others. But no one displayed signs of feeling that way. "I got your voicemail. I went to Ben's but, no one was there, and then I saw your bathroom...so I came straight here," Jughead explained, half in thought while he spoke. "From now on—if you call, I'm answering it. I promise."


	19. 19: End Game

Even after the others had gone, Jughead stayed with me. Sitting on the bed beside me, eating the jello the nurse had brought in, while I flipped through channels on the small TV mounted to the wall in the corner of the room. We'd gotten to talking about homecoming—seeing as I, like the smart person I am, decided to self harm the night before the big dance. "But you're going, right?" I asked, rhetorically.

"Not if you aren't," he shook his head, stuffing a spoonful of jello into his mouth.

I made a pfft. "Jug, come on, it's _homecoming_. You _have_ to take Betty to the dance."

"JUGHEAD!"

A squeal of a small voice interrupted whatever Jughead might've said in reply to my comment as Cash sprinted across the small hospital room. Jughead slid off the side of the bed, ditching the jello, to catch her before she slammed right into the bed. "Whoa! Easy there," he chuckled.

He hefted her up by her under arms, positioning her on his hip before sitting on the edge of the bed halfway. Not a moment later, Sweet Pea walked into the room with a heavy sigh. His eyebrows were drawn together, eyes narrowed. It wasn't hard to tell he was not happy. "Cash, you can't just run off like that."

"Cash," I leaned around Jughead to look at her, at her sheepishly guilty expression. "Did you ditch Sweet Pea in the lobby?"

Jughead made a gasping sound, leaning back to better give her a disapproving look. " _Busted_. You better apologize."

"Sorry, Sweet Pea," Cash twisted in Jughead's lap to see him.

Sweet Pea sighed again, this time sounding more like a weighted exhale, literally dropping into the chair near the end of the bed. He looked exhausted. And, seeing as this was his first time alone with Cash, I could understand why. She tended to purposely stretch people to their limits if she didn't know them well. A big biker like Sweet Pea was no exception. I chuckled lightly, "Hard first day, babe?"

He closed his eyes, "You have _no_ idea."

"Well, why don't _I_ take the munchkin back to Ben's and find something for her to do until he gets home in a couple hours?" Jughead suggested, groaning a little as he hefted Cash up off the bed with him. "I'll come back and see you later—unfortunately, it'll probably with Ben. So, you know, you might wanna make sure you're reptile free before that happens."

Over in the chair, Sweet Pea didn't look too pleased with the reference, narrowing his eyes at Jughead. But I nodded, too grateful for the offer to really mind. "Okay, thanks. Just don't let her sleep or else she won't be able to go to bed tonight," I told Jughead, as he started for the door with Cash. "And, please, no extra sugar."

"Got it, boss," Jughead twisted, giving me a mock salute.

Cash waved, "Bye, Diana!"

"Bye, Cash," I waved back, with a soft smile.

As they rounded the corner, leaving the room and my line of sight, suddenly they were replaced with a new figure. It was FP. He paused at the door, knocking a couple times on the door even though I already saw him, a small smile tugging up the left corner of his mouth. "Can, uh...can I come in?" he asked, eyes only on me.

Sweet Pea sat up in the chair suddenly, readjusting his position to sit straighter, act like he was a gentleman. It wasn't too curious, considering the scenario. Obviously Sweet Pea wanted to show FP he was being a good boyfriend. But it wasn't just FP. It was my father figure, and the leader of the Serpents. Ultimately what FP says goes for both the Serpents and for me. And he and I both remembered what happened last time FP didn't approve.

"Yeah, come in," I agreed, motioning with my hand for FP to come inside. "Welcome to my humble dwelling. You'll have to ignore the ripe smell of antiseptic. And that darn machine—the thing keeps beeping. I keep meaning to ask a nurse to fix it but—meh."

FP came to stand beside the bed, huffing a chuckle. "Well, I guess sarcasm's a good sign of health. Mind if I sit?"

I patted the space next to me then pulled myself back to sit up a bit more. He eased his weight down onto the edge of the bed with an exhale. That's when I really noticed it—the change in his appearance. He looked better. Happier. His face was clean-shaven and he smelled like a fresh shower. He might have actually been wearing a clean flannel, too. My lips grew into a wide smile, "Lookin' good, pops. Got a hot date or something?"

"What can I say? I've been feeling good," he smiled back at me. Then, he held up a small, rectangular box in a gesture. "Which is why I thought it would be the perfect time to bring you this—kind of a late birthday present. I wanted to give it to you on your _actual_ birthday but, well, it just wasn't ready."

He held it out to me, a certain sparkle to his eye, and I took it from him eagerly. My fingers worked off the lid of the small paper box. Inside was a set of two keys, on a key ring, with a tag for the Self-Storage just outside of town. My eyebrows knitted, but my smile remained. "A storage key? What's it for?" I asked, pulling the key out of the box.

"A storage room, obviously. But, when you're feeling up to it, you should go have a look."

I sat back a little, looking up at him. "I already know I'm gonna love it."

A light, airy chuckle escaped him. Then he sat upright and made a motion toward my arm nearest him with the side of his hand. "So, uh...how long you gotta have those fancy bracelets on, huh?" he asked, an attempt at small talk. But I could see the smile was really hiding his anxiety. It was his tell—he hid his emotions in his eyes. "Not too long, I hope?"

"Just until the skin heals, I think. It shouldn't be long," I answered, calmly.

Then, after twisting for a millisecond to glance at Sweet Pea, he made a gesture by tipping his head in the younger Serpent's direction. "He takin' care of you alright?"

"More than alright," I nodded. "Considering I wouldn't be here if he hadn't brought me in, I'd say he's doing his job quite well."

"Good. That's good. Well, I'll let you rest. Just focus on getting better, alright, kid?"

He surprised me when, while I replied in agreement, he leaned forward and left a somewhat quick kiss against my left temple before standing. It wasn't too out of the ordinary of a gesture. But it caused my eyebrows to knit in curiosity and concern, grabbing his wrist as he turned to leave. "Hey, FP?" my words stopped him more than my hand seemed to, as he turned around. "Is everything okay?"

He shrugged a little, keeping up his loose smile, "Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"

My features relaxed, and I sat back a little, but I kept my hold on his wrist firm. "I don't know...it's just...is there anything you're not telling me?" I'd asked it lightly, with a crinkle to my left eye. But all he did was shake his head. Looking at me like I was being ridiculous—or his version of it, anyway. It was a shift of weight onto his heels, a small scoff, and almost tossing his eyes.

"I got nothing to hide from you. You rest now, alright?" he turned to his left, glancing to Sweet Pea. "Watch out for my girl."

I hadn't seen Sweet Pea's response. My eyes were too focused on FP's retreating form, leaving me, disappearing into the hospital hallway. The hours after nightfall were spent laying in the hospital bed, pressed against Sweet Pea's side with his arm around me, chin resting atop my head. For a few hours, there was a marathon of Criminal Minds. It kept my mind at bay. It kept my memory from reeling back to FP's odd behavior.

Every few moments for a long stretch, Sweet Pea's cell phone would buzz. Another Serpent texting him. And each time, I'd tell him he could leave if he needed to. But he'd scoff and tell me it was a ridiculous thought. "Nothing's more important than being here with you," he'd said. And I believed he truly felt that way. I didn't want to be the reason someone needed him and he wasn't there. But not even I could make Sweet Pea do something he didn't want to do.

Two hours into the marathon, he'd gone to readjust his position and found his leg asleep. "Maybe you should get up and move? You've been sitting here for a while," I suggested, sitting up against the pillows. But he'd only shook his head, giving some comment about needing to find out who the UnSub was, and somehow that was more important. Then Jughead had texted me, saying he and Ben were coming to visit.

Sweet Pea—begrudgingly—took a trip to the lobby to evade being spotted in my room, only at my expression of urgency. The visit was short, thankfully. But Jughead was in his suit for the dance and a smile ghosted my lips. "I knew it," I pointed at him, as he walked in. "You caved." He'd laughed and said it wouldn't be the same without me. But then Ben replied for me in his usual foot-in-mouth fashion, stating that I wouldn't get out of bed anytime soon.

The excuse to get him to leave was making sure Cash wasn't unsupervised. And if Jughead didn't leave soon, he would miss the dinner with Betty and her mother before the dance. The thought of both Jughead and FP at a dinner with Alice Cooper made my skin crawl. But I tried to act supportive. Ben was halfway out the door, but Jughead stayed behind a moment to hug me tightly. "Have fun, okay? Make some memories for me," I encouraged, as he pulled away.

"Yeah, I'll be sure to take a selfie every ten minutes, too, so you don't feel lonely," he smirked.

I gave him a look. "Okay, move along. You're gonna be late, Casanova."

Jughead had left my room as I was texting Sweet Pea the all-clear. When Sweet Pea arrived back at my room, he climbed into bed with me, wrapping both arms around me. He'd kissed the top of my head, and I unmuted the TV on the wall. I didn't know what it was that moved me to do it. But, a bit absentmindedly, I peeled his left arm from around my torso. I held onto his wrist, pulling it closer for me to see better. There was a spot on the back of his left hand, just below the start of his thumb.

The spot, as small as it was, was reserved for me. It was a solid shape, a shaded in tattoo of a crescent moon. Only someone with knowledge of Roman mythology would understand the symbolism and what on earth it had to do with me—or, more specifically, my name. Just like my tattoo on my inner right wrist of a sweet pea blossom. I brushed my thumb over the dark ink on his tan skin. "Think anyone will get it?" I asked, tilting my head back to look up at him.

His head tipped down to see me, the right side of his lips quirking up. "Probably not. But it doesn't matter if anyone else understands."

The soft edges of my smile were genuine, my eyes looking lovingly into his, which were filled with adoration. My mind couldn't think of a better time. A better place. A better emotion. So I said it. Those three things that scare the life out of young lovers and end weak relationships. It was incredibly bold, but it was honest. "I love you," I'd said it so softly, I was sure he hadn't heard it.

Because, for a moment, he was quiet. His features were a bit tight. His eyes glossed over with seriousness as they suddenly began to search mine. And I knew then what he was doing—he was reading me for a lie. Hoping it would be there to give a reason for escape. But my words were not a joke. I could tell the moment he understood, the moment it sank in. When the weight of my words crashed down on his shoulders.

"I love you, too," he spoke softly, sweetly, but so quietly and timidly. With softened eyes and relaxed features. I pushed up and pressed my lips to his in a kiss. It was the most natural-feeling response my mind could think of. And it felt like it was the right choice. He kissed me back, sliding his hand onto my cheek, as he opened his mouth to deepen it. I'd practically melted into him. Looking back on it, it was the calm before the storm. In every aspect. But there was a special storm headed just for us.

I didn't know it then. Gripping the fabric of his t-shirt, tasting his cigarette lips. I didn't know then, but I would know soon. When the Criminal Minds marathon ended, it was just about the time people would be arriving at the gymnasium for homecoming. It was sad to think I wouldn't be able to go. But a school dance wasn't really something I could've seen Sweet Pea participating in anyway, so I ignored the urge to text Veronica for a picture of the gym.

Jughead did in fact send me a selfie, though. Except the only part of his face visible was from just below his eyes and upward. The rest of the photo was of the decorated gym and couples dancing. Just a couple yards back and to the left of him were Betty, Archie, and Veronica. They'd obviously had no idea he was taking a photo right then. You could tell based on their absentminded expressions. I'd sighed, humming a bit as I did, looking at the photo.

Sweet Pea shifted, leaning more into my left shoulder. "Looks like they're having a blast."

"Oh, definitely. You can tell by the way Veronica looks like she needs a nap," I replied, dryly sarcastic.

It was true—she did look sleepy. But it was probably just the contortion her face happened to be in when Jughead took the photo. I'd typed a reply to his corny caption and set my phone aside.

* * *

My body was shaken awake by a hand on my shoulder. It was gentle at first. But I'd only turned away, burying the side of my face into the pillow. I was too tired to be bothered. Then the shaking worsened, immediately shifting to a violent jerking. "Babe, wake up," it was Sweet Pea's voice. There was no missing the slight panic, the haste to his tone. "FP was arrested, he's at the Sheriff's station. I have to go to the Wyrm."

That first phrase was absurd in my half-asleep mind. It was almost laughable. But I was unsure if I'd even heard him correctly, or if my mind had garbled something together. So I rolled onto my back and rubbed my eyes, replying groggily, "What? _Who_ was arrested?"

"FP was arrested for that North sider's murder. I gotta go, okay? I'll be back later, I promise."

The warmth of his lips graced the left side of my face, followed by the sound of his footsteps in my ears. My eyes were so heavy, so tired. I could barely open them enough to see him leave my room. I pushed myself up into more of a sitting position and reached for my phone. It was a weird thing—the emotions swirling in my chest as my eyes focused on my notifications. There were at least a dozen missed calls from Archie, Veronica, and Betty.

There were a few text messages from Kevin. It looked like Archie tried messaging me, and then gave up when realizing I was probably asleep. My fingers instantly moved to dial his number. I rubbed my right eye, holding the phone up to my ear, listening to it ring. Everything sounded too loud against my tired eardrums. So I held the phone just slightly away from my ear to keep a headache from forming. Archie answered on the third ring.

His voice came through the line in a breath of relief, "Hey, Diana- is Jughead with you?"

"What? No. Why would Jughead be here?" I asked, my eyebrows drawing together on my forehead.

"He's missing, we can't find him anywhere. You're kind of our last hope. Where would Jughead go in a time like this?"

My fingers messaged my temple, momentarily closing my eyes. So it was true. FP really was arrested for Jason's murder. And it would seem Jughead ran off. I couldn't blame him much for that, though, considering I was thinking of doing the same thing. I sighed, "I don't know. I might know a place, but it could be a false alarm. I'll check it out."

"Whoa, hold on. Diana, you need to rest. You can't be traipsing around in the freezing cold in the middle of the night," Archie protested.

"Arch, if Jughead is hiding from everyone then I need to be the one to find him. I'll call you if it pans out."

That's when I ended the call, and I went straight to texting Kevin. He was shocked to actually hear from me. Even more shocked when I told him what I needed him to do. But he was honestly the only person I knew that could pull this off. I'd told him to go to my house, climb in my bedroom window, and get a change of clothes from my closet. I'd even told him where in the closet to get the clothes from. I didn't expect him to agree. But he did.

It took him about forty-five minutes to complete the task. He texted me when he was on his way to the hospital. And that's when I tugged out my IV, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. There was one thing Jughead had left to fall back on—his mother. But she was living in Toledo. The only way to get there from here that Jughead could possibly afford was a bus. If he was anywhere, it had to be at the bus station. Or already on a bus.

That thought brought a new edge of anxiety to my chest. What if I was too late? What if Jughead was already gone? There was only one way to find out. At least, that's what I told myself, as my bare feet touched the ice cold tiles of the flooring. It sent a shock up my spine. The shock was then followed by a bought of dizziness and slight nausea. I hadn't been standing for almost forty-eight hours. Standing up suddenly was not the best idea.

It was about then that Kevin walked into my room. It was past visiting hours but, being the Sheriff's son, he was able to get in by pulling a few strings. "This is a bad idea," he said, walking toward me with a duffel bag. He was reiterating one of his text messages almost word for word. "If your mountain of a boyfriend finds out that I helped you do this, he will _crush_ me. My bones are _extremely_ breakable, Diana. His arms are _twice_ the size of mine. Twice!"

I gave him a look, smirking. "Kev, you'll be okay. I'll cover for you."

He looked skeptical, reluctant. But, begrudgingly, he gave me the bag. Mumbling that it was still a bad idea as I began to dress. It was a pair of loose-fitting jeans, a random t-shirt, and a black hoodie. Fashion wasn't my biggest concern in that moment, so I didn't really give the combination a second thought. I just put the clothes on, stuffed my phone in my back pocket, and let Kevin lead the way to the nurse station down the hall.

Checking myself out wasn't too hard. Apparently it was recommended I stay a bit longer, considering my large blood loss. But Kevin spun an excellent story about a family emergency and got the paperwork rushed along. I held up a thumb, nodding to him, as the nurse left the station with my sign-out form. He shrugged modestly with a small smile and we continued out of the hospital. He'd taken his dad's truck, so it was nothing to ask for a ride to the bus station.

"The bus station?" Kevin looked confused, turning the keys in the ignition.

"Yes, Kevin, the bus station. We're looking for Jughead and it's the only place I can think of that hasn't been searched yet."

His eyes rounded a second in a gesture, but he started driving. I honestly didn't know where I'd be without Kevin. He drove me to the bus station. Parking out front, he looked at the door to the lobby through my window, leaning forward in his seat as I unbuckled. "It looks like it's just about to close," he noticed.

I pushed open my door and slid out, closing the door before turning to see Kevin. "Thanks for the help, Kev. I owe you."

"It's nothing you wouldn't do for me, right?" He smiled, closed-mouthed. It was cheesy and boyish.

My lips couldn't help but curve up into their own smile, giving Kevin a nod. Then I pushed off the side of the truck and started for the door to the station.


	20. 20: Brother

My hands pushed open the door as I walked through, stepping into the lobby of the bus station. And there he was—standing at the ticket window with his back to me. "Jug," I spoke, as the door chimed shut behind me. He'd immediately turned around a bit at the sound of my voice.

His eyebrows knitted, disbelief etching his features. "Diana? What are you doing out of the hospital?"

"Everyone's looking for you, Jug," I answered, taking steps toward him. "They looked everywhere, but I figured the bus station would be the place to find a runaway."

"I'm not running away. I'm doing what I should've done a long time ago," he corrected, his features flattening out across his face.

There was a certain tiredness, a sadness, that colored him in. It was impossible not to notice. He was not alright. Not at all. I stood a foot from him, my shoulders slumped. "Jughead...FP didn't kill Jason. That's...that's not even a _possibility_ ," I shook my head, keeping my tone as positive as I could manage.

Jughead scoffed lightly. "They found the gun in his trailer, Diana. You know, all this just makes me realize I don't know him at all."

"Well, I do. And FP would never kill _anyone_ —especially not a teenage boy," I said, adamantly. "We can figure this all out, okay? But not if you leave Riverdale. "

"There's nothing to figure out! I'm leaving on a bus to Florida at six am. That's it. These guys are closing so I'm going to Pop's. Do you wanna come with me or not?"

His question was lighter in tone than the rest of his sentence. But it was still harsh. Taking a deep breath, I nodded, and followed him outside. It was hard to hold it back—all the things I wanted to say. It was impossible to wrap my head around the idea of FP killing Jason Blossom. There was no way on this Earth that FP Jones was a murderer. I'd refused to believe it. We stat in a booth at Pop's in silence. He leaned into the wall, slid halfway down the seat, eyes aimed somewhere out the window.

I sat forward in the booth with my forearms on the table, one folded and the other straightened to stir the mug of coffee in front of me. I could feel it, the tension. It was a hard rock in the space between us. I'd felt like his offer to join him was a kind of way of saying 'want to say goodbye?'. But we weren't saying anything. And, maybe, that was the goodbye in and of itself? Regardless, I'd texted Archie and told him I'd found Jughead.

That Jughead was okay, and there was no reason to search anymore. Then he started pressing me for details. For locations. I knew that the last thing Jughead wanted was to see his friends. He wanted selective solitude. But it was the only choice I had to get Jughead to stay. So I told Archie we were at Pop's. It was a decision I might've ended up regretting, but all I could think about was losing Jughead again.

If Jughead left, he would never come back. Not even for me. And I couldn't really blame him. Riverdale had turned into a sideshow. Neighbor against neighbor, everyone always pointing fingers, putting the wrong people behind bars without dealing with the real problem. I sat back in my seat, dropping my left hand in my lap, while my right hand loosely fidgeted with my mug. "Are we gonna talk about this?"

"What is there to talk about?" he replied, almost— _almost_ —stoic.

"Well, if you're leaving, you'll never know the truth—for one," I'd glanced at him briefly. His eyes remained gazing out the window with a downright depressed demeanor. Blowing air through my lips, I moved my eyes back to the table top. "I'm gonna miss you. A lot. Nothing's going to be the same around here."

Finally, he moved. He turned his head toward me, in an almost loll across his shoulders, and I tried to make my eyes stay on his. There were pink lines along the edges of his eyes. His orbs were glossed over, with a light glisten. "You said you knew my dad...what did you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I said. I've been around FP just as long as you have—actually, a week longer, if you want to get technical."

"Don't you think that's strange? How we were born almost exactly _one_ week apart?" his eyes narrowed as he spoke, making a dark expression of questioning. "How our families have always been really close—almost _too_ close? Yeah, our dads were friends. But our moms _hated_ each other. Yet you and I? Sometimes I think we were supposed to be twins."

My eyebrows knitted softly in confusion. "Jughead...what's your point?"

He dug a hand into his pocket. When he pulled it out a second later, he held what looked to be a crumbled and folded letter. With a bit of a slam, he slapped the wadded paper on the table top, and then slumped back into the corner of the booth again. "Found that in dad's trailer. It's an interesting read. Fair warning—it's a tear-jerker."

The drastic change in conversation confused me deeply. But the letter, even more so. I was hesitant to take it. To open it. To unfold it. I didn't know if it was something I should've been reading. But I'd read it. And, to this day, I wished I hadn't. Inside the folded and crumbled envelope was a single sheet of paper. It looked to be some kind of blood work-up. There was even a header for the hospital here in town. That was about all I could make of it.

Then my eyes skimmed over the work-up. What caught the breath in my throat was not the blood type or levels. It was the name on the form. In big, bold letters— _ **PATIENT NAME: DIANA CASSIDY**_. It was _my_ blood. My eyes quickly flickered to the date at the top of the page. By the look of it, this was done when I was seven. My mom would've been pregnant with Cash at the time. I'd had no idea this even existed. Serpents don't typically use hospitals.

But this was too official. My eyes skimmed down further, back over the work-up. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Jughead's comments seemed even more off-the-wall. And then I saw it. It was a DNA match. Whatever sample they'd used was tested against my mother's, my father's, and FP's. My mother's was a match. My father's was not. Who else was a match? FP Jones. Shocking, isn't it? At the time, I thought it was. Not so much anymore.

See, when something difficult is happening to you, you do not see all the sides. You do not see everything. But when you've lived past it, you can see truly all the things you'd missed—or had chosen to ignore. And they all come back to haunt you. I'd had mixed emotions about the results of the test of the page. All I could do was drop my hands in my lap and stare at the steaming mug on the table. Surely, this couldn't be real.

It had to be fake. Something drawn up by someone looking to cause trouble. But, even still, I had to ask. "How long have you known about this?" My voice was quiet, full of shock, and barely audible. Jughead crossed his arms and slumped in his seat.

"Only for a few hours," he'd replied. " _Stings_ —doesn't it?"

"So your dad and my mom got together a week before...?" I exhaled, shaking my head. "Mom _hated_ FP. She said he was a bad personality influence."

"Obviously, she was just trying to further the act," Jughead said, still quite stoic.

I turned a little in the booth to better face him. "Jughead...we're siblings. _Why_ would they keep this from us?"

"My guess? Someone on either side didn't know, and there was too much to lose if it got out. So they agreed to act like they hated each other and kept it locked away. I doubt your dad ever knew."

What he'd said made sense. And the bitterness in his voice when he said it was something I was familiar with. It was angering. Even after my parents died, FP still didn't come clean. It all had made sense then—the babysitting, rides to school, teaching me to fix a bike, helping me through initiation, the looks, the hugs. When I'd called him dad outside the Sheriff's station and he hugged me so tightly. It was because the title was more real than I'd thought.

His behavior in my hospital room came back to me. How he seemed off. Like he wasn't saying something he'd wanted to say. How final his exit felt. He wasn't just visiting to give me a birthday gift and check up on me. He was saying goodbye. FP had to have known Sheriff Keller was on to him. With this bombshell of a lie, it wasn't hard to see where Jughead got his certainty in FP's guiltiness. Because I was starting to think that way, too.

If FP lied about this, what else has he lied about? Killing Jason Blossom? It was a slippery slope. But it was a believable one. And it was starting to come full circle in my mind. I'd missed the bell above the door, but there was no missing the voice from behind—one distinctly belonging to Archie Andrews. "Diana, Jughead," he said, causing me to immediately twist in my seat to see behind. Betty and Veronica trailed just behind him. "You guys okay?"

I took a shaky breath and turned straight forward. Archie and Betty slid into the booth seat opposite me and Jughead, while Veronica remained standing, just behind me. I looked to Jughead. His eyes were out the window once again, a purely saddened echo to his flattened features, eyes still glossed. I shook my head a little, looking back to Archie. "Far from it," I admitted, averting my eyes, moving them to my coffee mug.

I hadn't taken a drink in half an hour. But I took a sip then—if anything, just to distract my emotions from the lump in my throat. I'd hoped that the heat would melt it. "I'm so sorry, you guys," Betty said, glancing between Jughead and I. Her gaze ended on Jughead, a certain shade of longing coloring her entire face.

"There's something you need to know," Archie said, quickly, as I put down my mug. "That gun? It wasn't in FP's trailer when Veronica and I searched it. Someone put it there— _after_."

Jughead perked up almost instantly, eyes narrowing slightly at Archie. "What?"

"It was planted—your dad is being framed," Veronica reiterated.

A certain relief flooded my body hearing those words. But my instincts took over, pulling me out of my seat to stand beside the booth. "We need to tell Sheriff Keller," I declared, glancing at all of them in turn, sporadically. "If FP is being framed, that means he _is_ innocent. Jug, if you wanna sit around and mope—be my guest. But I'm going to get our dad out of jail."

There was a confused glance that swept across the booth, everyone looking to each other for confirmation of what I just said. But Jughead looked right at me. The sadness that once colored his face was now a hardened determination. "I'm with you," he nodded once, before sliding out of the booth.

"We're all with you," Archie stood in his declaration.

Betty slid out after he did, and I started for the door. There was no way I was letting this slide. If Jason's killer wanted a fall guy, then he messed with the wrong family. And they were about to find out.

* * *

We pushed through the doors of the Sheriff's station, the group pouring in, just a stride behind me. I marched straight to the front desk, staring down the woman behind it through the bullet proof glass. "We need to talk to the Sheriff," I said. "There's been a huge mistake." The group was crowded behind me.

Not a second after I spoke, Veronica—somewhere behind me—said, "Sheriff Keller. We need to talk to you about FP Jones."

I turned around as the Sheriff replied. "What about him?" he asked, eyes narrowed. He looked slightly exhausted, and incredibly done with this day. He was looking exactly how I felt, in other words. Archie stepped up. "He's innocent," he explained—sort of. "He's being framed."

"Then why'd he just confess?" Sheriff Keller asked, raising a brow.

That's when my heart dropped. Just then, two deputy's were escorting FP to the jail cells. Walking right past us. My heart was racing, yet in my throat at the same time, and I couldn't stop. My feet moved me forward before anyone noticed. I reached out. "Dad- Dad, what are you doing?" I questioned, my voice drenched in an anxious panic, as my fingers gripped FP's sleeve.

The deputy's looked confused, moving him away from me, as they told me to back away. I didn't have a chance to comply. Sheriff Keller's arms were around me a second after I hadn't moved, gently tugging me backward. And the deputy's pulled FP from my grasp. But he looked at me. His eyes were darkened, glossed, and full of many things. None of them were good. Sadness, regret, guilt. All of the above.

I pulled against the Sheriff's arms, the look of FP's features causing my eyes to hydrate themselves a little too much. "Dad! _Why_ are you doing this?" I was shouting a little, as the deputy's had nearly taken him out of sight down the hall. This was not normal behavior. But I was desperate. No one acts in a proud way when desperation claims their soul.

The Sheriff pulled me back a little more. He said, calmly, "Diana, please. We're just doing our jobs."

"Let go- let _go_ of me."

I yanked free from his grasp and stepped away from him. A quick sweep up of my eyes revealed the shocked, sympathetic expressions worn by everyone I'd walked into the station with. Except Jughead. Jughead looked as though he were on the verge of tears, looking right into my eyes with a look that said the one thing I didn't need to hear— _I told you so_. "Diana-" Archie tried to speak. He'd stepped forward, reached out a hand.

But I ignored him. I walked right past him and out the exit, into the cold night air. This was too much. It was all too much. FP could not have killed Jason Blossom—so why would he confess? If he lied about being my father then— _obviously_ —he was capable of lying about so much more. He'd hid it from me for at least nine years. Hiding a murder wouldn't be much harder.

* * *

Sitting at the empty breakfast table in the dining room, I'd held the crumpled paper in my hands—the proof of my unconventional route into the world. Finding out one's paternity so unexpectedly gave many options for panic. I took the more efficient, but most deadly, option. The slow killer. The panic that crept in slowly, pulling you deeper and deeper into the water, inch by inch. You hold your breath as you descend. But your head goes beneath the surface.

You only go deeper, and you need to breathe. You hold your breath until you feel like you're going to explode—and that's the moment when you lose it. When you actually panic. My head's been just above the surface all night. But it felt like it was about to get lower. I needed to talk to Ben. I needed to know what he knew. Seeing as I didn't sleep, I sat at the table until he woke up and drug himself out to the kitchen. I watched through the archway as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Morning," I said, my voice crackling from going unused for so long.

He startled, hard. Coffee sloshed out from not only the mug, but the pot as well. He quickly shuffled back to miss getting burned toes with a hissing sound. Breathing out heavily, he looked up at me. "Diana!" he just about whisper-yelled. "What on God's green earth are you doing home? You're supposed to be at the hospital."

There was a puddle on the floor. But he stepped around it and returned the coffee pot to the base, before walking toward the dining room. He looked disgruntled as he sat in a chair adjacent to mine. My face was less than pleased, as well. But, in my mind, I had a better reason. "Is FP Jones my biological father?" I asked, bluntly.

He took a drink from his mug then, eyes averting to the left—away from me. I stared at him, unmoving in this display of avoidance. After a moment, he put his coffee on the table. "Why would you ask such a thing?" he asked, looking at me with a confused and slightly amused expression.

With a deadpan, I slid the paper across the bare wood toward him. "A paternity test."

"You got tested?" his eyebrows popped, then narrowed, almost angrily.

"Someone tested my blood for me, when I was seven," I shook my head, sitting back in my chair. "Now answer my question, Ben. Is FP Jones my biological father?"

Ben picked up the sheet of paper, fingers on the outermost edges, holding it from his face—as though he might catch something from just being near it. He sighed, somewhat heavily, and put it down. "Diana...there's no way to say this other than yes. He is your father."

"Why wasn't I told?" I questioned, tone more bitter.

"That was between your mother and FP—I had nothing to do with it, and I don't know what kind of deal they struck up," he explained. He was speaking slightly louder, more dominantly—probably sensing my change in tone and overall emotional state. He was on defense.

I sat forward in my chair, arms crossed. "How do you know about _this_ then, huh?"

He sighed again, sitting back. His eyes were settled on the table—a wise choice. "When your parents died, FP was going to adopt you and your sister. But I knew what kind of life you would've been having, living with him, so I did everything I could to make sure that didn't happen. I took you two myself. FP thought waving this in my face would get me to change my mind."

I'd pushed up from the table then in a burst of abrupt anger. My chair screeched on the tile as it back up. Stepping away, I scrubbed my hands over my face. It was almost laughable—what with the tense, tightening coil of rage and despair in my gut. I'd wanted nothing more than to hit something so hard whatever it was broke. But I settled for curling my fingers into fists at my sides as I paced the length of the dining room.

After a long moment of quiet, Ben spoke. "I know this is a lot to take in. Especially given recent events."

"You have no idea what this means to me—what _he_ means to me," I turned toward him then, stopping my pace only to glare. "Living here has been my own personal _hell_. Don't tell me I'm a liar—just take a good, long look at my wrists. I would have been better off living with FP at the trailer park."

"Diana, please," he gave me a look, one that said I was speaking nonsense.

Soft footsteps echoed from the living room. It was Cash, coming down the stairs. She stepped into the kitchen and rubbed her little eyes, yawning quite loudly. "Good morning," she said, walking to the island. Then, with a pause, she looked my way. Her whole face pulled up, filling with joy. "DIANA!"

Her short legs carried her across the room at lightning speed. She latched onto my waist with an iron grip. It was like she'd finally caught Santa delivering presents. "Hey, Cash," I smiled down at her, exhaling to hide my stress. "How'd you sleep?"

"Great! What are you doing here?" she peered up at me through her lashes, her lips pulled into a wide smile, and I nearly broke.

With the reveal of my true identity, there was one thing I dreaded—Cash was no longer completely my sister, my blood. I had half of her. And that was all. It explained so much. Why she was always so much like dad with her youthful optimism. Why I was such a pessimist with my mother's world view. I didn't have any of my dad in me, because he wasn't my dad. Not anymore.


	21. 21: Sweater Weather

"Don't worry, Diana, this is just procedure," Sheriff Keller assured, settling into the metal chair across the interrogation room table from mine. "You're a known associate of the Jones family, so I have to ask you a few routine questions to establish your alibi and possible knowledge of the incident."

I sighed, but nodded, readjusting my crossed arms. "I get it."

"Alright then. Where were you on July eleventh?"

It was a bit of a loaded question, but it was also so simple. Where was I on July eleventh? I was at work. MLJ Comics, from seven am until eight pm. I told the Sheriff just as much. To which he skimmed through my anorexic file in front of him on the table, and skimmed over my employment records. "And where were you before that?" he asked, glancing up from the pages at me.

"At home, showering," I exhaled. "You can ask my nine year old sister."

"Diana, in your own words, what would you say your relationship with FP Jones is like?"

"Flammable. Broken glass. He was there for me when no one else was, so, yeah, there's a twisted sense of loyalty there. But...I don't know. We've had some disagreements lately."

The Sheriff titled his head, an eyebrow rising in intrigue. "What kind of disagreements?"

"The arguing kind? My boyfriend, my life—you name it, we disagree on it. But we always kind of...make up. I don't see what that has to do with Jason's murder."

"Just getting the lay of the land," the Sheriff tried to seem light-hearted, but he was sensing my disgust of the situation with every word. This was a highly stressful situation in every sense of the word. Jughead had already been grilled all morning. Now it was my turn. I thought it'd felt worse waiting in the lobby. But I knew then it was harder to answer the questions.

Sheriff Keller asked routine, simple questions. But at a certain point he'd changed topics to a normal conversation. Probably to make it easier for me to keep answering. He'd asked about school, how I was doing. If I talked to Kevin much anymore. I'd left out the bit about Kevin—technically—breaking into my house to get me a change of clothes, then helping me get out of the hospital when I shouldn't have. It was best that the Sheriff didn't know.

I'd owed Kevin too much to spill his secrets. He'd changed it back to questioning faster than i'd realized possible, in the most unexpected way. With a questioning look, he'd glanced at the file before looking back up at me, "When exactly did your affiliation with the South Side Serpent gang end?"

My eyebrows drew together. "My what?"

"You were picked up and held over night for...petty theft, when you were fourteen," Keller said, reciting the information in my file. "It wasn't hard to miss the snake tattoo on you when we brought you in. I'm assuming your involvement with them ended?"

Settling in my seat, leaning back, my eyes lowered to the table. Did it ever end? Not how I'd planned. Not how I'd hoped. My fingers tugged at the cotton bandage around my right wrist, resting in my lap as I answered him honestly. "Not exactly. They're my family, Sheriff. You don't just 'end involvement' with them," I said, lifting my eyes to meet his.

He seemed a bit surprised by that answer, but understood. "I see. And this boyfriend you mentioned...I'm assuming he has Serpent ties as well?"

It was rhetorical. I exhaled, nodding a little. The Sheriff nodded in return and promptly searched to change the subject in the pages of my file. It didn't surprise me that he'd acted like he'd seen it all before. Because, in all reality, he probably had.

* * *

It was the first night after FP's arrest. Knowing what I knew, I couldn't be home. I couldn't be at Ben's. Not until I knew for sure he was asleep and I wouldn't have to see his face. So instead I sat on the couch at Sweet Pea's trailer. It was a better place to question my existence than my bedroom. Sweet Pea knew I was there, but he was not. He was still dealing with whatever Serpent business needed to be dealt with after FP's sudden arrest.

The TV in the corner was on, but i'd forgotten it long ago. I stared at a random spot on the wall, lost in thought, hugging my knees to my chest. The discovery of my paternity could not have been more untimely. All it did was remind me why lying was never the better option. But, if FP had told me the truth, would I have believed him without seeing the results for myself? Probably not. My heart couldn't help but want to see him.

But the thought of seeing him sitting in a jail cell, seeing him behind bars, made my stomach turn. Even with a confession, I still knew deep down he couldn't have killed Jason Blossom—not after knowing all that Jason had done for me on the North Side. But cleaning up his murder? Hiding the killer's identity? I could believe that. It wasn't the best case scenario, but it was something other than being a murderer to put my faith in.

I'd curled up with my back against the arm rest nearest the door, turning in toward the back cushion as I sighed. It'd been a long day. The only times I'd seen Jughead were in and out of interrogation rooms and sporadic glances in the lobby waiting area. It made me anxious—to think that Jughead might've been pulling away again. But I took a deep breath. The last time I thought I was losing Jughead, I almost succeeded in killing myself.

That would not happen again. I'd made that clear to myself already. Now came the fight to stick to it. I didn't know when I'd successfully fallen asleep. But I did. It felt like mere seconds had gone by when I felt my body being moved, peeled from the couch and lifted. My eyelids remained closed, too heavy to open—but my consciousness was all too alert. It was put at ease when I recognized the muffled swear following a hard lurch.

I cracked an eyelid, fingers gripping onto Sweet Pea's t-shirt. "There's a table there."

"Thanks, babe, I almost didn't see it," he huffed a chuckle.

The smirk on his lips was evident in his voice. He maneuvered through the somewhat narrow doorway to the back bedroom, with the help of me instinctually bending my feet to miss the wall. He'd carried me to the bed, lowered me onto the mattress. And in my tiredness I let him remove my shoes from my feet and my jacket from my shoulders. I slipped beneath the thick blanket and burrowed into the pillows, an overwhelming comfort filling my chest with the intoxication of his scent.

A bit of my lucid mind came back with a sudden jolt of anxiety, and I lifted my head. Sweet Pea stood feet from the bed, facing away from me, as he removed his Serpent jacket—sliding off his boots simultaneously. He seemed like such a giant from this angle. Extremely tall with broad shoulders, he was like a skyscraper in human skin. I'd propped myself up on my elbow a bit. "How are the Serpents doing?" I asked, my voice quieted. "You know, dealing with FP's arrest and all."

"It's a little chaotic. But Tall Boy's trying to keep everyone from losing their minds."

Sweet Pea spoke quietly, too. As though there were someone else sleeping we both could not wake. I slid back down onto the pillow, letting my eyes fall closed. They were so heavy. I hadn't realized how tired I was until I'd gotten comfortable on the couch. It was quiet for a moment. My eyes had remained closed until I felt a dip in the mattress. Then I opened them to find Sweet Pea getting comfortable on the other side of the bed.

It looked like there'd been a line drawn. And he was careful not to cross it, flopping onto his back near the far side with a hand tucked under his head. He'd closed his eyes, but mine were open. He was bare chested in a pair of gray sweat pants, looking completely relaxed as the stress visibly faded away from his features. I readjusted my position before I spoke. "You can stretch out if you want," I offered, in a hushed whisper.

His eyes peeled open, then rolled toward me. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"I'm uncomfortable when I can't reach you."

He blew air through his lips in a tired, almost-snort of an exhale, then rolled onto his stomach in a small slide across the foot of space between us. One roll was all it took to bring him close enough. I scooted forward in a wiggle and his arms encircled me as my hands rested against the warm skin of his chest. "Better?" he asked, his cheek against my left temple.

"Much," I exhaled.

Easing our way into it was a sweet and very appreciated gesture. But all I wanted, all I _needed_ , was for him to hold me. After the stressful jolt my life had taken, I needed an escape. I needed a comfort. And Sweet Pea's strong, tanned arms were exactly the escape I was looking for. Safely tucked against his chest, I'd let myself drift off into a deep sleep. When I woke, light was pouring in through the curtain in the window.

A firm grip was still around my middle. The blanket was still tucked up around me. But as my eyes opened fully, and I regained some awareness, I'd realized what had changed. Sweet Pea was behind me and my back was against his chest. His breath was on the side of my neck with the tip of his nose just behind my ear. It felt like I was wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and softness and, for a long moment, I didn't move. I couldn't make myself.

I'd tried to close my eyes again, but I was a bit too awake to actually sleep. So I just laid there in blissful defiance. My mind wandered back to FP, to Jason and his real killer, and it hit me—if FP was involved in the murder somehow, who would know better than a Serpent? Obviously FP Jones didn't answer to anyone. But, even if he'd actually killed Jason himself, he would've needed help at some point. Everyone does. So now the question was, who helped him?

Mustang and Tall Boy came to my mind first. They were closest with FP, probably the first he would go to. They were the ones that could stomach it. And the ones with the right muscle needed to finish the job if push came to shove. I wasn't close with Mustang. He was a belligerent wild card that was too drunk to walk a straight line half the time. I'd only known Tall Boy a short while in a personal respect. He was my mother's oldest brother.

So, technically, he was my uncle. But we never had that kind of family relationship. He was just the person I'd buttered up when I needed a favor, using my mom as leverage to get what I wanted. And it worked. Every time. If Tall Boy was so susceptible to me and my pathetic attempt at charm, what else was he susceptible to? A proposition for murdering a teenage boy? For helping cover it up?

I let out a huff of a sigh in annoyance at my own thoughts, groaning a little. These questions needed answering. Preferably before I lost my mind. I'd pushed up onto my elbow then, tried to peel off the thick arm around my abdomen. But his grip only tightened, pulling me into him a bit, and I sighed. "Sweets, I need to get up-" my eyes flicked to the clock beside the bed. "-it's noon. Not only have I missed most of school, but Ben's probably sending out a search party as we speak."

"Sleep," was his only response, voice muffled from his face against the back of my t-shirt.

"Dude, it's noon! We've slept for almost ten hours!"

He lifted his head, eyes squinting hard against the light. "'Dude'?"

He looked amused—one eyebrow raised with the corners of his mouth softly turned upward. I pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers. "I say 'dude' all the time," I said, to which he hummed in skepticism. Then I pulled myself to sit up. "I need to find out who framed FP. I know in my bones that he didn't kill Jason—even with his so-called confession. I'm not giving up on him, Pea."

He looked at me a moment, then his eyes shifted down as he sighed. Then, with a hand gently rubbing up and down my lower back, he moved his eyes to my face with a nod. "I'm not either. We'll find out together," he decided, a tone of certainty in his groggy voice.

A small smile pulled at my lips, "I didn't peg you as the murder investigation type. I'm impressed."

"I told you I'm not just here for my rugged good looks and rock hard abs," he groaned softly, pushing himself off the other side of the bed. As he stood, he turned toward me with a humorously serious expression, "I have certain...skills."

"Oh, you do? Like what—making all the food in the fridge disappear? Leaving your underwear on the floor? Wait, I got it! Tooth paste _all_ over the sink."

He grumbled something as he pulled a shirt from the floor onto hid body, walking toward the small bathroom in the corner, "I stay at your house _one_ time—because _you_ ask me to—and this is what I get." It was under a humorous sigh, disappearing into the bathroom, that left me chuckling as I climbed out of bed.

* * *

Pushing through the doors to the Whyte Wyrm, one thought kept creeping into my mind—this is a bad idea. But I didn't really have any options. The Serpents were a family, yes. Yet they were the type of family most people didn't understand. The type that would kill, or cover up kills, for each other. With each other. No questions asked. But a serial killer wouldn't be able to hide within them. Because he wouldn't have the dedication to stay through the brutal initiation.

I hadn't been inside the Wyrm in a while. I'd worn my Serpent jacket all the way there. It was a possibility someone from the North Side could spot me, say something. But it felt like I didn't care anymore. And maybe I didn't? Maybe I liked the recognition. Or, as Sheriff Keller put it, the _affiliation_. I wore a dark red hoodie beneath the jacket, with dark jeans and leather boots. Tightening my somewhat-high pony tail, I started for the bar.

Tall Boy was there, talking to the bar tender. He was my first target. Sweet Pea followed behind me, a stride behind and to the right, keeping a comfortable distance while still remaining by my side. It was a comfort—knowing I had backup. It was the best kind of backup. The protective, territorial boyfriend kind. The kind that never fails in any situation. It was a confidence boost. I strode up to Tall Boy, stopping a foot from him.

He'd stopped speaking a second after Sweet Pea and I arrived, and he turned to look at us. "Can I help you?" he sounded a bit disgruntled, but just looked tired. I could understand why—seeing as, as second in command, he now had to step up and lead. But he also had to calm and reassure the masses and keep the gang going. Literally. "Did you know FP was involved in Jason's murder?" I asked him, bluntly but calmly, and non-accusatory.

"Of course I did. Did I help him do it? No," he remained calm, casual—like he'd expected me to ask eventually.

"Do you know who did?" I asked, loosely crossing my arms.

"Look, kid. I don't owe you any answers to anything, alright?" he sighed, looking more worn thin than before. "I answered your first question out of respect for your dad. Now get out of here before I get someone to haul you out. You know how FP feels about you being here."

My eyes narrowed, but it was the only outward reaction I could afford in this situation. "Really, Tall Boy? Wow, you _are_ completely clueless. _FP_ is my father. But you already knew that. I think it's a little coincidental, don't you, that FP goes away and suddenly...mister _underappreciated_ is in charge?"

"I'd watched your mouth-" Tall Boy stepped forward.

A thick wall of leather sidestepped around my right shoulder, planting his feet in between me and Tall Boy, cutting the large biker off from saying whatever insult he was about to hurtle. I was prepared for whatever he would say. He wasn't intimidating—not to me. But Sweet Pea used his towering height as an intimidation tactic of his own, not quite covering my view of the bearded Serpent in front of us. "Take your own advice, Tall Boy," he warned.

Tall Boy halted, but gave Sweet Pea a warning look of his own. To cut the tension, I spoke up, continuing my original thought. "If it wasn't you, then you should have no problem proving it, right?" I pointed out, neutrally, tipping my head onto my left shoulder to better make myself visible around Sweet Pea.

"Talk to Joaquin," Tall Boy grumbled, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest. "Your problem's with him."

I smiled sweetly, patronizingly. "Was that so hard?"

My expression dropped in a second, changing to a glare accompanied by a slight frown aimed right for him. The middle aged biker only glared back at me. It wasn't that hard to find Joaquin. A quick sweep of the Wyrm revealed he sat on a stool near the pool tables. I gave a singular pat to Sweet Pea's bicep before walking Joaquin's way. He was completely unaware of the storm heading right for him. Joaquin and I were friends.

He was older than me by a year or two, but we always had a certain banter that came with close camaraderie. I could feel Sweet Pea following as I stepped up to Joaquin's table, plastering on a carefree smile as I puled myself up onto a stool. "Hey, D," Joaquin said, a bit surprised. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at school or something?"

Sweet Pea slid onto the stool to the left of mine, saying, "We're on a mission, Joaquin. How you come out of this depends on how fast you're willing to talk."

"What?" Joaquin tensed, eyes a bit wide.

"What he means is—we have some questions," I explained, calmly. "Did you know FP was involved in Jason's murder?"

Joaquin was quiet. His eyes shifted away from the table, darting across the room in one wide sweep. Sweet Pea was leaned forward onto the table top on his folded arms, and he turned his head to look at me with a raised brow, to which I replied with a shrug. "Not here," Joaquin said, a bit hushed. He tipped his head and slid off his stool, the gesture imploring us to follow. I didn't hesitate to. I knew Joaquin. Whatever he had to say, in private or in public, would be useful.

So Sweet Pea and I followed him outside to the parking lot, then around the right side of the building, to an empty space of pavement. Joaquin's demeanor was jittery, anxious. A blind man could tell he was a bit panicked. But I didn't blame him. If he was involved, it would be scary—to be so close to being exposed. Finally, Joaquin turned around to face us, and we stopped walking almost simultaneously. "Look...I know you and Jason were friends," Joaquin started, looking at me with a certain expression of guilt.

"Cut the pleasantries—what do you know?" Sweet Pea's eyes were narrowed.

Joaquin sighed, shoulders slumping. "FP killed Jason. I was there. I mean- I didn't see it happen. But- but I assumed. He called me on the eleventh, said he needed help with a clean up job at the Wyrm. It was in the basement. Jason was on the floor, already shot, when I got there. I helped him get the body into the freezer and then mop up the mess."

Some time during Joaquin's bit of a monologue, Sweet Pea had slid his hand in mine. Now he was giving it a reassuring squeeze. But it didn't help much. It didn't ease the burning in my throat. I took a deep breath, calming myself a bit before speaking. "Have you guys talked about it since?" I questioned.

"Yeah, a little. Look- there's something you should know. With all of this going south, I can't get close to the case. But there's a flash drive," Joaquin said, speaking directly to me. "FP said it was our contingency plan. It's in a duffel bag below the old maple syrup sign-"

"Where FP torched the car," I finished, ruefully.

Joaquin nodded, only confirming my worst fear. I had to ask myself a new question in that moment. I'd said I wasn't giving up on FP. But would I still fight for him, even if he actually _was_ the killer?


	22. 22: Exorcism

Most of the reason for going to the maple syrup sign was to prove—if anything at all—that FP at least didn't torch the car. Odds were, if the bag wasn't there, FP was lying and it was enough proof needed for me. It was nightfall by the time Sweet Pea and I reached the stupid sign. Trudging through the thick snow in the dark. I shone my flashlight beam across it just to make sure it was the right one. "Here we are," I sighed, dreadfully.

"Babe, where'd he say it was?" Sweet Pea asked.

It sounded like it was more for nervous conformation than anything else. Turning my flashlight on him, I saw he was standing right where it was supposed to be. "Right there," I answered, taking steps toward him. He squatted in the snow and reached into the mess of odd branches and twigs in front of him. I'd held the light, hoping he'd miss the slight vibration of the beam's positioning. My hands were shaking—but not from the cold.

He dug for only a second before pulling out a dark duffel bag. Something moved me forward then, kneeling beside him to better see the bag as he unzipped it. His hand dug around inside, and pulled out, tugging out with it a Riverdale High Letterman jacket. My hands instinctively snatched it upon seeing the gold and blue coloring. The fabric against my skin brought a lump up into my throat. I'd turned it over, desperately searching for the name.

I could feel Sweet Pea's eyes on me a second before his unsure voice spoke my name, "Diana…"

"I have to know, Pea."

Not a second after the words left my mouth, my eyes found the gold cursive stitching spelling out a familiar name, as my flashlight beam illuminated it— _Jason_. Every muscle in my body became rigid at the sight of it. The lump in my throat only seemed to grow, becoming a hot burning sensation, causing my eyes to water. "There has to be something else," I was sounding more desperate than intended. "This can't be it-"

"It's the only thing in here- the bag's empty," Sweet Pea turned the bag upside down, shaking it in a _see?_ gesture.

"No...this- this can't be _it_. What kind of a contingency plan is this?! If anything, it'll get FP _more_ years in prison! It proves he killed Jason, that he torched the car, that he probably covered it up in other ways we don't know about-"

Stopping myself, I dropped back onto my butt in the snow, uncaring of the cold soon to follow from the action. This proved everything. It proved everything I was trying to _disprove_ , everything I knew in my bones to be wrong. Even though warm tears fell off my icy cheeks, looking down at the jacket in my hands, I couldn't accept it. Not yet. I had to know for sure what happened—no matter the answer regarding FP's involvement.

* * *

I'd contemplated it all that night, sitting in the same place on the couch until the sun spilled through the cracks in the window at my back. The trailer had never felt so empty. Without FP in it, there was nothing worth staying for. But looking at the empty shell brought back old things I hadn't realized I'd forgotten. All the times FP was a father to me. Sometimes, better than the man I used to think was mine. It turns out, Bulldog was just a placeholder.

Trying to picture a life without Bulldog was too hard. But so was picturing my life without FP. I needed answers—for everything. And there was only one way to get them. _Straight from the horse's mouth_. Which means I needed to take a trip to the Sheriff's station. So I'd stayed at the trailer as long as it took for the sun to rise, and then I left—heading up third on foot. The streets were fairly empty that early. It gave an extra shove to the knife blade in the left side of my chest.

It was cold—like every morning during this time of year—but I'd barely noticed it by the time I'd reached the station. There were certain visiting hours. I'd known those times like the back of my hand since I was at least twelve. I was a little early, I knew, when I pulled open the glass door and stepped into the lobby. Two steps in and I nearly collided with a solid object. When I shuffled back, muttering a quick apology, I saw who it was.

"Mrs. Andrews? Hi...I- I didn't know you were in town," I tried to smile a little, through my blatant surprise.

Archie's mother smiled politely at me—unlike my awkward display. "Diana, it's so nice to see you. I was just in town for the homecoming dance."

"Oh...so, what brings you to the station?" I asked, a bit curiously. "Nothing bad, I hope?"

"Oh, no, nothing bad. For me, at least. Archie asked if I'd look into FP's case while I was still here," she explained.

Mrs. Andrews had always been nice to me—probably because I was dating her son. But, even after the breakup, she still seemed pleasantly polite. I nodded a little. Then I arched an eyebrow, looking as though my next words were out of sheer curiosity. "How is it looking?"

Her lips took a bit of a downward turn, shaking her head slowly. "Not good, I'm afraid. I was just about to go meet the boys at Pop's and tell them about it—you could come along if you'd like? I know you and FP were really close."

She'd said it like FP died and we were talking about funeral arrangements. It irked me. I shook my head, told her I had other business to attend to before school. We had a nice, casual goodbye as she slid out the door. The second she was gone, my polite smile fell into an uninterested frown. I didn't dislike her. But I wasn't in the mood to be genuinely happy to see someone. It seemed to be happening more and more as time went on, my dislike for human interaction.

Moving to some remote corner of the world and becoming a hermit was slowly becoming a viable option for my future, especially if Riverdale continued to throw me around like it'd been doing. Sighing, I made my way up to the teller-like window. "I'm here to see FP Jones," I said, leaning my palms into the wood of the thin piece of desk on my side of the glass.

Apparently, I'd come just shortly after visiting hours began. So I was technically right on time. Sheriff Keller himself took me back to the holding cells—more specifically, to FP's. Keller opened the door to the small room housing FP's cell, and stepped in, saying, "Look alive, you've got a visitor."

I'd walked in a moment behind him. Keller stayed by the door to hold it open for me, his back to it. FP was reclining on a small cot-like bed in the far corner of his cell. Looking more washed-up than usual. He didn't look anywhere but straight forward. "What is it now?" he grumbled, disinterested.

I twisted, looking over my shoulder at the Sheriff. His eyes shifted from FP to mine. His expression was questioning— _do you need me to stay?_ It was a kind offer. But I gave a shake of my head, and he nodded in return, turning and leaving the room. Shutting the door behind him. Leaving nothing but me and my empty veins to face FP. As I turned back to the jail cell, I exhaled. "What, you forget me in here already?" I asked, the words light-hearted to throw off my dry tone.

FP looked up then—really looked up. And his face turned. His features sunk in their crevices and his eyes saddened. All in the bat of an eye lash. "What are you doing here, kid?" his voice was empty as he sat up, pushed himself up off the cot to stand, and stepped toward the bars. "You should be in school—not in this dump worrying about me. No, you got better things to do with your life."

"Stop while you're behind. I have one question—to start. But you better answer me honestly, FP," I stepped toward the bars as well, my tone a bit angrier than I truly was. If anything, I was sad. Sad to have to ask this question. But I looked into his eyes—no matter how much I didn't want to. "Did you do it? Did you actually _kill_ Jason Blossom?"

I waited for his reply with a held breath caught in my throat. He was quiet. Looking at me with an unchanging expression. Finally, after a long moment, he answered. "Yeah, I killed him," he said, with a certain shade of unbothered that cratered in my chest. It was a kind of flippant _so what?_ that made him seem darkly uncaring.

With his unwavering confidence, and the words I didn't want to hear but needed to, I felt myself crack. Physically, mentally, emotionally—I cracked and splintered right down the middle of my body. It felt like I was shattered pieces of glass on the floor being stepped on. "Dad..." my voice came out as a strangled croak. " _Why_?"

He leaned his palms into the bars, "I did what I had to do—like I always do."

"Is that what you were doing by not telling me you were my _father_? Is that why you kept it from me—because you were _doing what you had to do_? Huh?!"

My saddened anger might have appeared weak to anyone else. But, for good reason, FP knew me better than that. He had to have seen that I was broken. That I was not strong—not anymore. Not there, in that moment. It was the weakest I'd ever felt. "I did it to protect you, Diana," his voice was rising with mine. "Look at me—I'm in jail! You really think knowing your old man is a dead beat would've been something _good_ for you?"

"You're _all_ I wanted! Every night I spent in that forsaken house, I wanted to be with you and Jughead at the trailer park. I wanted to be with you, because _you_ acted like you actually _cared_ about me! All those nights I came to the Wyrm after my parents…after Jason...you let me cry for all of them in your arms—and _you_ knew the truth all along. I actually thought it wasn't you when you were first arrested. So much that I got _Jughead_ to come to the station with me that night to plead with Keller to release you—that it was somehow a _mistake_."

Sometime during my speech, my bearing of soul, I'd started crying. Nothing too boisterous. They were just single, silent tears treading a path down my cheeks. But they were there. FP's features were slightly softened, but otherwise remained the same. "The mistake was you coming here," he shook his head, taking a step back.

"Yeah...you're right. No. The mistake was believing in you," I corrected, bitter-toned but plain-faced.

He dropped onto the cot in the corner and put his feet up, reclining against the wall again with a sigh. It was suddenly as though I wasn't even in the room. I wanted to scream. The walls of the house I'd built out of people I loved was slowly caving in. Archie had been a wall, so was Jason. But FP was the ceiling. The wall Jughead used to be was broken, but somewhat repaired. The only thing that seemed to be standing was the floor I stood on.

I'd left the room without another word. Wiping my face with my sleeved wrists, I walked the hall toward the lobby. As I rounded the corner to the final stretch, I saw Jughead near the front desk, talking to Sheriff Keller. The tears weren't stopping and neither was I. At some point, Jughead noticed me. I was at the halfway point when he spoke. "Diana?" he asked, surprised, confused. "Did you talk to dad?"

My feet kept moving as I replied, "He's all yours. You can have him."

The bitter voice that came from me sounded darker than I imagined it in my head. I walked right past a stunned Jughead Jones, across the lobby, and through the glass front doors into the cold.

* * *

It was the most difficult thing I'd ever had to do—acknowledge that my biological father was more than likely a murderer. The worst part was that he killed my best friend. I'd vowed to never hurt myself again, but that was all I wanted to do when I finally got back to my bedroom. Ben was at work and Cash was at school. The house was empty, with nothing but me and Killer. Even Killer was gone—sleeping on the couch downstairs.

I dropped my weight onto the edge of my bed. There had to be something. Some kind of alternative to physical harm. But I couldn't think of one. It felt like my brain was on fire, like all the things inside it were tangled too deep into each other. Like I was about to explode. And, in a way, I guessed I did. Because I got off the bed and marched straight to my desk. My left hand grabbed the waist basket from beside the desk, and my right swung across the surface of the desk.

Knocking all the photos, trinkets, pencils and pens—any and all things—into the basket. Then I took to the walls. Literally gripping the edges of posters and tearing them from the wall, dropping them into the basket with the desk items. When the walls were bare, I went into the closet, flipping on the light. My hands started grabbing hung up articles of clothing and throwing them onto the floor outside the closet. I didn't want them anymore.

I didn't need them. They were possessions of North side Diana—a version of myself I wanted to burn at the stake until she was a pile of smoldering ashes. This metaphorical other half of me was almost dead. But I needed to kill her. I needed to make it permanent and it needed to happen _now_. I stuffed all the clothes into carpenter bags and tied them off until all of them were out of the closet. I went to my bed and pulled the cases off the pillows, the matching sheet from the mattress.

Both of them went into bags. Along with the pansy pattern comforter I never liked. The frilly pillows from the love seat, the pink curtains, my cutesy days of the week socks, and anything else I could find in the room that I didn't like went into the bags. But it wasn't enough. When I stood in a naked and empty looking room, it wasn't enough. My body felt weak, empty—still retaining its urge to incur physical pain.

So I went to the bathroom and turned on the light before standing in front of the mirror. My face was cute. Too cute. My hair waved and lightly curled down my front in a pampered, expensive-looking style that made everything youthful and _cute_. I hated that word. But it described my appearance perfectly. So my hand dove into the little drawer to the right of the sink. It rifled until it landed on the silver pair of scissors i'd kept in there.

When I had them in my clutches, I didn't hesitate to grab a fistful of my chocolate colored hair. The scissor blades cut through the clump. It left a somewhat jagged, just slightly uneven fray of hair on my head and a long wad of it in my hand. I tossed the cut hair into the waste basket beside the toilet and grabbed another fistful of brown waves—this time on the other side. I'd managed to cut my hair in a way that, yes, looked a bit trashy, but was still usable.

Either way, I didn't care how it looked other than one fact—it looked like _me_. The Diana Cassidy I hadn't seen in over two years was staring back at me in the mirror. Clumps of hair had fallen over the porcelain of the sink, the granite of the counter tops, the tile of the floor. But I didn't feel any regret for what I'd done. Instead, I felt free. I felt a release. This was what I'd needed to do for years. I cleaned up the fallen hair and dumped it in the waste basket.

Then I began hauling bags down the stairs. More like, dragging the bags to the top and throwing them down the rest of the way. It was faster and more efficient. Killer leapt up from the couch with a bark, getting up from a dead sleep, and he ran to the base of the stairs as I'd finally finished tossing the bags. "It's okay, boy," I assured, exhaling as I trotted down the carpeted steps. "This is what freedom looks like. Take it in—because I'm probably getting kicked out for this."

I drug the bags to the garage, one-by-one, until they were gone. Then I went back up the stairs to my room and closed the door, before heading into the closet. I took the clothes out of my dresser and hung them up on the now empty bars to take the place of all the clothes I just got rid of. The things from my drawers were all clothing options I actually liked. Most of the clothes I'd worn to keep Ben in the dark were blouses, blazers, cardigans, and skirts.

But the clothes I felt comfortable in were the ones I hung up—tank tops, over-sized t-shirts, denim shorts, faded jeans, crop tops, and mesh-shirt-over-tank-top combos. They were relaxed. They were South side. The thought of Ben's reaction no longer scared me. Instead, I wore a loose smirk, fighting a laugh. This was close, but I still needed to put the final nail in North side Diana's coffin. That would come tomorrow.

* * *

Ben left early in the morning for another work-related trip out of Riverdale, so he didn't see what I came down the stairs wearing—or the fact that I'd butchered my hair. But he soon would. I made breakfast and had it on the table before Cash came downstairs, ready for school, and entered the kitchen. She wandered into the dining room with a bright expression, eyes wide to match her smile, staring at me. "WOW! I love your hair!" she exclaimed.

I chuckled, smiling as I pulled out her chair. "Thanks, Cash."

She climbed into the chair and I pushed her in, then sidestepped to sit in my own seat. After breakfast, I walked Cash to school. Then I walked _myself_ to school. Knowing what kind of school I was going to, I knew to anticipate a not-so-subtle reaction. But it didn't bother me. Not anymore. All I thought of walking into school was about the bio test on Monday. I hadn't studied for it much, considering my recent life changes, but I needed to start soon.

Otherwise I would be officially failing biology. It wasn't my strong suit, but I'd never had a problem with it until this year, when my life went to kingdom come. I pushed through the main doors and strode in, stepping without a care to my locker. Ear buds dug deep into my ear canals, plain-faced expression, and my bag loosely hanging from my shoulder. All signs pointed to not giving one single care. But heads were in fact turning.

I didn't need to be able to hear them to know they were whispering. It came with the territory. Not only was I a friend of Jughead's and was close with FP Jones, but I also came into school looking like i'd fallen into a meat grinder—and my hair did not survive. My outfit wasn't the most subtle either. A black t-shirt with a gold woman woman logo stretched across the chest that was faded and worn, black tights beneath matching denim shorts, my red hoodie beneath a denim jacket, and my studded ankle boots.

It was still modest enough to fit the dress code, but it was just South side enough to work. I rolled in my locker combo and pulled open the door. That was when I was attacked by a red headed viper. Cheryl Blossom. She yanked out one of my ear buds and I recoiled to the side a step, giving her a _what for?_ look. " _What_ are you wearing? And what did you do to your hair?!" she practically shrieked, tugging on the frayed ends of my hair.

Rolling my eyes, I pulled out the other ear bud and stuffed my mp3 player into my bag. "I cut it, Cher. Obviously. I needed a change—why else?" I shut my locker after pulling out my algebra textbook and turned toward her at my right, raising an eyebrow with an otherwise plain expression. "Considering how you pummeled Jughead yesterday, I'm surprised you're even talking to me."

Cheryl's expression loosened as her eyes averted, guilty as sin. "I didn't think-"

"Archie texted me, Cheryl. He told me everything," I crossed my arms, over the textbook.

I wasn't happy with her, even though I could understand why she did it. I got Archie's messages late last night. Apparently Jughead apologized to Cheryl in the cafeteria and she responded by hitting him as hard as she could until they were pulled apart. I guessed that's how you reacted when your beloved twin brother's murderer was finally caught, and his unsuspecting son showed his face. I also guessed I didn't know Cheryl like I thought I did. Just like everyone else in my life.


	23. 23: Mercy

The clock beside the bed read one-fifteen. My dry eyes were stuck on the red numbers from my head's perch on the pillow. It was late. I should be sleeping. Sawing logs like the unconscious Serpent out to the wind just behind my back. But I wasn't. I'd been tired when I first laid down, but now it seemed my mind was keeping the rest of my body awake. I twisted my body, carefully turning onto my other side, turning my back to the clock.

Even in the dark of the bedroom, my eyes were adjusted enough to the darkness to see the shadows cast on Sweet Pea's face from the soft moonlight coming in the curtained window. He looked so peaceful, so gentle. Features relaxed, black hair smeared against his pillow like a brush stroke, cheek smudged up from being pressed into the pillow case. In this setting, he looked human. He looked young. Like he wasn't full of anger, ready to punch someone at any given moment.

With a soft sigh, I rolled back onto my other side, eyes moving straight to the red numbers on the clock. It was one-thirty. I couldn't take it anymore. Lying there and not moving. My mind was too far ahead to rest enough for sleep. I pushed myself up, sliding my legs over the edge of mattress, and carefully dropped off. Even though I knew Sweet Pea was a heavy sleeper, I was still cautious. I tip toed around the end of the bed and straight through the bedroom door.

I only went to the living room, dropping onto the couch. It was far enough of an escape. An escape from my thoughts. I remembered then the one time in my life I'd actually escaped. I ran away from home. If my memory was accurate, I was ten, and I only went to Jughead's trailer. But it was a big deal for me. It was in the middle of the night because I didn't have the nerve to leave during daylight. So I snuck out my window and ran all the way to the trailer park.

Thankfully, Jughead had been awake. He let me in, being quiet as not to wake his parents, and told me I could sleep with him in his bed that night. That I didn't have to go home. The memory placed a certain echo of nostalgia and longing in my chest. I missed Jughead. We'd still barely spoken since FP's arrest. But it worsened to nothing after we ran into each other at the Sheriff's station—after I'd talked to FP in jail.

It needed to change, I decided, pulling my knees to my chest, my heels bracing the edge of the couch cushion. My whole body startled—enough to drop my feet off the couch—when a familiar male voice pierced the silence in the room. "What are you doing out here?" Sweet Pea asked, with a knowing tone.

He stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living area. He looked fully awake, but I knew for a fact he was fighting to stand upright. "Couldn't sleep," I shook my head. He exhaled, nodding once, before walking further into the living room. My eyebrows drew together then, "How'd you know I was gone?"

"It's colder when you're not there," he answered, simply, as he lowered himself to sit on the couch beside me. "You okay?"

"Honestly? I don't think I know anymore."

I shook my head slowly, staring straight ahead. It was a true statement. My emotions were too up in the air to discern such an answer. Sweet Pea snaked an arm around my lower back, his free hand gripping my hip opposite him, and he pulled me into his bare chest. I slid my arms around his torso and nestled my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling to breathe him in. "I'm sorry, babe," he spoke softly. "I hate seeing you like this. I wish there was something I could do."

"Just don't let go."

"I won't."

His arms around me tightened, cheek against my left temple, as he exhaled a deep breath. I could feel his hand trailing up and down my spine in a slow, comforting line. And a wave of calm settled in the sands of my body. "I love you, Sweets." I sighed the words against his skin, and I could've sworn I felt him shudder. He shifted to press a kiss to my temple. The warmth on my skin broke my arms out in bumps, realizing just how cold it'd felt.

With a quiet, soft voice, he replied, "I love you, too, D."

It was like the first time all over again. The first time hearing those words come from his lips. I wished I could keep it that way, somehow. Just save it in a way that it could never change. Because that was one of the last kind moment I would have for a while. But I didn't know it then. Then, in that moment, I'd fallen asleep in his arms, and we'd woken up in a tangle of crooked limbs the next morning.

* * *

It was six o'clock in the morning when I turned my key in the lock on Ben's front door and pushed into the living room. There was no point in being quiet. Ben was already awake. Sitting at the dining room table in his bathrobe with a coffee mug in hand, flipping through the latest conspiracy theory from Alice Cooper in the Riverdale Register. I closed the door behind me and started into the kitchen, bypassing the dining room altogether.

But Ben still knew. His voice filtered in through the archway between kitchen and dining room as I poured coffee into a mug. "Little early to be out, don't you think?" he questioned, rhetorically. The sound of his newspaper crinkling followed the screech of chair legs on tile. "Oh, that's right. You never came home last night. I'm honestly surprised you're even here this morning."

He stepped into the archway, then crossed his arms over his chest. I took a drink from my mug as I turned toward him, leaning a hip into the side of the counter, and replied with an almost flippant sarcasm. "You say that like you actually missed me," I quipped, dryly, holding the mug in both hands at my waist.

"So, where _are_ you spending your nights these days?" he asked, obviously trying hard to ignore my comment.

"With my Serpent boyfriend at the trailer park. His bed's bigger than mine—plus he gives me rides to school, so." I shrugged, saying the words so freely, so casually. Even though I knew just how hot his skin had to have been boiling at that point. It almost made me smile. To think that I was getting at him like I hadn't been able to before. Ben's features were withered with age, but they were now stretched thin in anger, lips curved down in a frown.

I took a long drink from my mug, then sat it on the counter. "Don't worry, Ben. It's better this way. You don't see me, I don't see you—everyone wins. It's what you wanted, right?"

My feet moved onward, on a path back through the kitchen to the living room, with the aim of eventually meeting the stairs to my room to get a change of clothes. At this point, I'd lost track of how many shirts I'd left at Sweet Pea's trailer. Too many—I was beginning to run out. But as I passed Ben, his hand lurched out, fingers wrapping around my upper arm to stop me. It worked. My whole body stopped, my eyebrows knitting together.

"You think this is a _joke_ , Diana?" he questioned, voice low, a little too close for comfort with a grip that was sure to leave a mark. "I have done everything I can to give you a better life—to get you a way out of this forsaken town—and this is how you repay me? Throwing it all away for some lowlife gang banger that's gonna leave you in six months?"

The strength I held was not enough to match his, but I'd slipped from his grip with a hard, unexpected yank that his words had surged into my veins. My immediate, instinctual reaction was exactly how I acted. I wadded up saliva in my mouth and spat it at him as my feet shuffled back. He recoiled an inch as it hit his left cheek. But it only seemed to enrage him—almost as enraged as I was. And that's when it happened. That's when the back of his hand swept across my face.

My feet stumbled backward, my lower back hitting the island hard, as my head snapped right from the force. Fingers gripping at the granite of the island to keep myself upright, I lifted my head in spite of the searing sting along my left cheekbone. Dizziness rushed in. Ben looked like he'd seen a ghost. His face pale, features slacked, taking a single step backward with round eyes. He shook his head, "D-Diana...I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to-"

" _Save it_ ," I hissed, pushing off the island—against my head's wishes. "Cash and I will be out before you get home from work. Don't bother looking for us."

Letting those words sink in, I immediately left the kitchen and trotted up the stair case to my room. I'd made sure the door slammed loud and hard. There was no way I was letting a man hit me like that and stay in the same house. It was Ben's house. So the person that needed to leave was me. Ben had left for work before Cash woke up—thankfully for me. I only had thirty minutes to find a way to cover the red on my cheek before then.

It looked terrible. In my mind, the red mark was all I could see. I'd hoped no one else would be able to notice. Cash didn't. She was her usual bubbly self when she strolled into the kitchen for breakfast. She also didn't notice my hands were shaking beneath the sleeves of my sweater. I'd held her hand to school that morning, but I was sure she assumed it was just the cold. When she was safely inside the school, no longer able to see me, I ran my hands through my hair on the sidewalk.

Completely and utterly losing it. So many questions ran around inside my mind— _where would we go? How would I support Cash? She needed clothes, food, schooling, but how would I be able to afford that? How could I take care of her and put myself through school?_ I'd continued on to the high school on foot, all the while trying to pull myself together and get myself out of my head. Even though that was seemingly impossible.

It'd been snowing again. So I brushed my hair off after entering the main hall, and continued to my locker. I couldn't let myself stop. Not even for a second. And I couldn't tell anyone my plans, either. Everyone would be worried, want to fix it, want to help. And Sweet Pea...I had no doubt in my mind that he would storm out of school, track down Ben, and beat him within an inch of his worthless life. That would be pointless.

It would only get Sweet Pea in more trouble than Ben. So I kept quiet throughout the day. I'd sat at an empty table at lunch, ignoring Veronica's attempts to wave me over to her table. Archie, Kevin, and Betty were sitting with her. Today was not my day. Sitting with them would only make it harder to keep going. To not break. I sat with my tray and slid in my ear buds, all the while writing out possible next moves for me and Cash on a notepad beside the tray.

A shadow was cast over the table in a brief wave, and I ignored it. But then the shadow kept moving, back and forth, and I sighed heavily as I lifted my head. It was Betty. I plucked one ear bud out, raising an eyebrow with an otherwise plain expression. "Can I help you?"

"Um, I just wanted to see if you were okay? You've been really quiet and reserved today," she said, a bit cautiously. "Jughead said you two haven't talked much lately, and I thought I should see how you were doing."

"That's nice of you, Betty, but I'm kind of on a mission here," I said, trying to politely tell her to get lost.

"Ooh, what kind of mission?" Kevin asked, sliding onto the bench space next to me.

"The secret kind?" Veronica inquired, sitting beside Betty opposite me.

My elbows perched on the edge of the table then, pressing my forehead to my palms with a groan-like exhale. I heard Archie's voice next, coming from the other space beside Betty, and I wanted to scream. This was my only chance when not in class to come up with a plan before school let out. And these hooligans were ruining it. "Guys, go away," I said, bluntly, as I dropped my arms.

Everyone stared at me with semi-shocked expressions. No one spoke for a moment. Archie's eyebrows drew together, and he leaned forward an inch. "Diana, is everything okay?" he asked, tentatively. If I was willing to be honest with the people at my table I would tell them why the answer was no. But I wasn't willing. So I didn't.

I only shook my head quickly, probably looking like a stressed baboon. "No! Now, just... _go_."

"D, come on," Veronica looked a little offended, but mostly just worried. "When I said we were here for you, we all meant it. So whatever's going on, just tell us. Maybe we can help?"

"No, no- see? _That's_ why I'm not telling you. Because you want to fix it. And you can't. So jump ship before this sinking Titanic splits in half." I sounded exasperated at this point. Reluctantly, Betty and Kevin got up from the table and slowly drifted back toward their own table, followed by Veronica. But Archie stayed.

He was not going to leave easily, which would make my job a lot harder. And it would also make _me_ the bad guy in this scenario. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on," he shook his head, but stopped in a split second. Face forward, eyes narrowed, focused slightly to my left. My heart stopped as he spoke. "Is that a welt? Under _concealer_? You don't wear concealer. Diana, _what_ happened?"

I leaned forward on my folded arms across the table, "Look, Archie- just- promise me you won't react when I say it."

"I won't," he agreed, leaning forward on his arms to mirror my position, listening intently.

"This morning, Ben and I had a fight...long story short, I'm moving out, and I'm taking Cash with me," I explained—sort of. "I don't know...where we're gonna go, how I'm gonna pay for it, or what's going to happen when we leave. But I just need to get out of there. I can't- I just can't be there."

Archie eyed me for a long, silent moment with a slow nod. Like he was getting it. Like he knew that Ben hit me. He knew why I had such an urgency to get out as fast as humanly possible. Finally, he spoke up, acting calmly like I'd wanted. "Okay. I can talk to my dad, and you can stay in the garage tonight—just to get you out. My dad and I can help you work the rest out tomorrow. If you want."

I was honestly taken aback by the offer. But it was greatly appreciated—even if staying at Archie Andrews' house wasn't exactly what I'd wanted. I nodded, "Yeah, okay. Thank you."

"We'll pick you and Cash up after school, when you're packed?"

He'd said it like a question. But it really wasn't at all. I nodded as he stood up from the table, nodding in return. He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before walking across the cafeteria to join the others at their table. Of all the people to possibly offer me refuge in a time like this, I hadn't expected it to be Archie. But it was the best chance I had at keeping Cash safe, at keeping a roof over her head. So I swallowed my pride and I took it.

* * *

"But _why_ do we have to leave?" Cash whined, for the millionth time. She sat on my bed, clutching her stuffed unicorn tightly against her body as she watched me stuff my clothes into a bag. I'd answered her already, every time, with something simple— _we just can't stay here anymore_. But this time, she was not having it. I sighed as I stopped, turning to see her.

She looked to be on the verge of anxious tears, her lower lip pouting. It tugged something in my chest. I walked across the room and sat beside her, wrapping my arms around her form to hug her to my chest. "Cash...I know you like it here. But it's time for us to go. It's not safe for us here," I told her, as softly as I could manage. "I need to take you somewhere I can keep you safe. You have to be a big girl and keep those tears in, okay? Can you be a big girl for me?"

"I think so," she mumbled, against my shirt.

I sat back, pulling my hand back and reaching up to brush the hair from her face. "You can do this, Cash. You're a Cassidy. We'll get through this together."

She nodded, though still saddened, and I pushed off the bed to finish packing. After I put my things in bags, we went to Cash's room. It was harder in there to pack. She almost had a mental breakdown at the thought of leaving some things behind. So I did my best to pack up everything I could manage into a bag. Archie and his dad got to the house an hour before I had to be out to miss Ben getting back. It was a lot of help. They carried most of the bags out and put them in the truck.

I'd brought another trip of bags down the stairs and handed them off to Archie, who proceeded to take them outside. Mr. Andrews came back inside, passing Archie at the door, and walked straight over to me at the stairs for another load. "I'll get more," I said, before turning for the stairs.

"Hey, Diana," he stopped me with my name, causing me to face me him again. "I'm really sorry about what's going on with you and your sister. If you need more than just a place to stay, you can always talk to me, alright? You may not be dating my son, but you're still family."

I nodded a little, surprised but outwardly grateful. "Thank you, Mr. Andrews."

He nodded in return and I went back up the stairs to get the last of the bags. Once they were out and in the truck, the next task was getting Cash out of the house. Killer was in the truck waiting for us. But Cash was sitting on her bed, crying, still clutching her unicorn. It broke my heart to see her like that, almost bringing me to tears myself. But I swallowed it down and hefted her up onto my hip. She clung to me without a word and I carried her down the stairs.

It was so hard to keep it together, especially that close to breaking. Water was in my eyes but I kept it at bay, walking for the door. As I past Archie, he looked incredibly sympathetic, seeing Cash crying into my shoulder. This was just another loss for her. Another move. Another place, set of people, she'd attached herself to only to get ripped away from. And, this time, I was the one ripping her away.

When Cash was finally asleep, I sat on the floor of the garage atop my sleeping bag, stroking Killer where he laid beside me. She'd literally cried herself to sleep. And it made me wonder if our parents dying finally hit her. If this jarred loose the emotions she didn't display when we moved the first time. I'd been fighting crying the whole day. I successfully held it in even in the sight of my sobbing little sister and her tear-soaked stuffed animal.

But sitting there alone, in Archie's garage, I finally cried. It felt like hot knife blades being guided down my cheek bones. I pushed up from the floor then, pulling my cell phone out of my back pocket, and stepped outside the garage door. I made sure to close it securely behind me. There was no way I was waking Cash up, not for something so selfish as my own problems. With shaking hands, I dialed Sweet Pea's number, and leaned my butt into the wall of the garage as I listened to it ringing.

I folded my arms in a way I could still hold the phone, and I tried to take a deep breath between hiccuping waves of water. On the second ring, he answered. "Hey, babe, what's up?" he asked, sounding as carefree as I did this morning. Before all hell broke loose and flooded my life with misery. Maybe it was my sniffle that gave it away? Or maybe it was the silence that followed as I tried not to sob into the phone? Whatever it was, he noticed it. His voice changed, any and all background noise fading out. "Diana, what's wrong?" he sounded concerned, angry. "Did something happen?"

"Ben hit me this morning, Pea. I took Cash and our things to a friend's house after school. But...I can't take this. I can't- I can't do this by myself."

It was hard to tell my words apart in my own ears, let alone through a cell phone speaker. But, somehow, he'd understood. "Text me the address—I'm coming."


	24. 24: Rise Above

I didn't sleep at all that night, in Archie's garage. But for the majority of it, I was snuggled inside the folds of Sweet Pea's jacket, where we sat together in front of the couch. Cash slept the whole night through. For a while, Sweet Pea dozed off as well. Snoring softly with his arms still around me. It wasn't until just after seven that he woke up again, after dozing off around five. I could tell by the way he inhaled deeply, shifted his position, and tightened his arms around me.

My body was plastered to his side, but I propped my chin on his chest to look up at him. "Morning, sleeping beauty."

"How long was I out?" he asked, eyes squinted against the light in the room.

"Not long—an hour or two."

He sighed, half yawning, "I'm sorry, babe."

"It's okay. I don't feel like sleeping, but I don't expect you to pull an all-nighter with me on a school night," I smiled softly at him, tiling my head to rest my temple against his shoulder. "Besides, I like listening to your heart when you sleep. It's calming."

Squinting a little less now, he peeled an arm from my waist and brushed his fingers across my left cheek bone. Gently across the red, still slightly puckered skin. "You know I would never hurt you like that, right?" his voice was small, quiet. There was a rawness I'd never heard him use before. It made me sit up in his arms, pushing myself up to be more eye-level with him—though I was still missing an inch or two. The seriousness in his features was what alarmed me.

The fact that he obviously felt the need to make it known to me. To tell me he'd never hit me. It sounded almost like he needed more reassuring than I did, and the more I thought about it, the more that seemed to be the case. And it worried me—that he didn't know I never thought he would. "Pea," I slid my hands onto his cheeks, speaking softly. "I know. I would never— _ever_ —think that."

His eyes searched mine, looking for the lie. But he wouldn't find it. It wasn't there. With a softening of his features, and a slight tilt of his head, he said, "I love you so much." The words came a moment before he leaned in. And I didn't hesitate to meet him halfway, matching the depth of his kiss with a depth of my own. His right hand slid down the side of my body to my hip, his left hand at my lower back, while my fingers raked back through his hair.

Surely it was an odd sight for Mr. Andrews, to walk into his garage expecting two sleeping girls, only to find one asleep and the other heavily lip-locking with a guy in leather. We'd instinctively parted at the sound of the creaky door, but Sweet Pea kept his grip on me—almost protectively. Mr. Andrews stopped a step inside the door. "Um...good morning?"

I smiled sheepishly up at him, "Good morning. Mr. Andrews, this is my boyfriend—Sweet Pea."

"Hi, nice to meet you," Mr. Andrews nodded once to Sweet Pea, awkwardly. Then he gestured over his shoulder with a pointed thumb, looking mostly at me, still just as awkwardly. "Uh- there's pancakes in the kitchen if you're hungry. You're all welcome to come inside. If you want."

"Thank you, Mr. Andrews."

He nodded once, pulling his eyes away from those of us on the floor enough to leave the garage in a reluctant stride. It was a bit embarrassing. Like being caught with your pants down in front of a crowd. Sweet Pea didn't seem too bothered by it, but he looked to me with a cautious expression. "I didn't just get you in trouble, did I?" The fine lines of his lips pulled up into a smirk.

I couldn't help smiling through the heat in my cheeks, "I'm sure I'll survive. The _real_ trouble is getting Cash up."

I peeled myself away enough to get to my knees, leaning over the edge of the couch to gently shake Cash's shoulder. She grumbled, groaned, and buried her face into the couch cushion. I sighed. "Cash, come on, wake up. It's time for breakfast. Aren't you hungry?" I asked, mostly rhetorical. Usually, Cash ate like a horse. She had a tiny frame but her stomach made up at least two-thirds of it. She shook her head against the cushion with a groan.

"Just leave me alone to _die_ ," she mumbled, barely audible through the fabric.

"Okay, Lilo," Sweet Pea stood to his full height beside me, before scooping Cash up off the couch, pulling her fidgeting body up into his arms. "This isn't the Heartbreak Hotel. Time to get up."

She grumbled in annoyance with her small eyebrows drawn together, partially glaring at Sweet Pea. I stood, unable to hide a smile, and I crossed my arms. "Did I _tell you_ that you could pick me up?" Cash asked him, her voice small but full of a tired annoyance. Sweet Pea's eyes narrowed as his head recoiled a bit, and I loosed a breathy chuckle.

His eyes shifted to meet mine, "Looks like it runs in the family."

I knew exactly what he was referring to. When we'd first met, I hadn't hesitated to mace Sweet Pea when he grabbed me without permission. But—as he was quickly finding out—I wasn't the only Cassidy girl raised with the proper understanding of consent. "Cash, put on your big girl panties," I said, to which she sighed. "I'm sure if you're nice enough, he'll give you a piggy back ride to the house."

It seemed to grab her interest, causing her eyebrow to rise—along with a less displeased expression. They'd worked it out, settled an arrangement between the two of them, to keep the peace. I didn't know what I'd have done had Cash not agreed to get along. But it seemed she had more fun on Sweet Pea's back on the way into the house than she did being mean to him. He'd set her down when we got inside, and she immediately ran to Vegas in the living room.

It was under my advisement that he'd decided to leave his Serpent jacket in the garage, but Sweet Pea still looked drastically out of place—with an uneasy expression that said he felt it, too. I slid my hand in his, locking our fingers, and I smiled up at him. "You got this, babe," I whispered, supportively.

"Then why does it feel like I'm walking into dinner with your parents?"

I gave his hand a tug, and the large Serpent followed behind me without much hesitation. With a scoff, I twisted to look up at him. " _Please_ —dinner with my parents would be easy," I said, just before we'd reached the kitchen. "Yeah, Bulldog was a bit scary. But my mom would have _loved_ you." The corners of his lips pulled up in a smirk at my words and, in seconds, it faded away to an expression of caution as Mr. Andrews walked into the kitchen from the other room.

Mr. Andrews smiled at me, obviously trying to do the same with Sweet Pea—but feeling a bit awkward about it. The awkwardness from the garage incident had not yet faded away, it seemed. But I could work with this. In a flash, Cash whirled into the kitchen with Vegas hot on her heels. The two nearly spun right into the kitchen cupboards. I grabbed Cash from behind, causing her to squeal, and hefted her up onto a stool at the island. "Okay, take a deep breath. That's enough running around—it's time to eat," I told her.

"Why can't Killer come inside?" Cash asked, mostly to me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but was beat to the punch by a familiar male voice, one that came from the stairs. "Because there's a reason why he's called Killer," it was Archie, I knew. He rounded the base of the stairs, starting for the kitchen, and his pace slowed a bit upon seeing all of us that were in the kitchen. More specifically, Sweet Pea. Archie's eyes flickered between me and him. "Uh…hey."

Archie stepped into the kitchen, stopping near the doorway. "Archie, this is Diana's boyfriend...I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?" Mr. Andrews asked, holding his coffee mug where he stood on the other side of the room. Sweet Pea's right arm had snaked around my waist, keeping me against his side, an obvious display of possession that almost made me roll my eyes— _almost_.

"Sweet Pea," he supplied, with a blank tone.

I kept my eyes on Archie, watching for some kind of reaction. Some kind of outward sign of his thoughts. But there wasn't one. He looked onward with a neutral expression that couldn't be put into an emotional category—and it irked me. I didn't know what exactly I was expecting. Though, this was the better outcome than what it could've been, I supposed. It was a bit weird sitting at the island. Cash had eaten and run to play with Vegas.

Mr. Andrews was somewhere else in the house doing who knew what. So it was just me sitting to the left of Sweet Pea, in between him and Archie. After yesterday morning's incident, I wasn't all too hungry. But It was like I couldn't stop eating. I thought I'd seen it all when Sweet Pea literally ate an entire shelf of food out of my fridge. I'd just stuffed more pancakes in my mouth when Archie spoke up. "Wow, Diana," he chuckled, smiling at my pancake filled cheeks. "Looks like _you_ were hungry."

I swallowed a large enough portion to answer, "I'm a growing girl. I need all the help I can get—dating this skyscraper over here."

I'd jutted my thumb in Sweet Pea's direction, only drawing Archie's eyes. But Sweet Pea didn't seem to notice. He huffed a chuckle at my words, and I glanced at him just in time to catch his eyes for a second. "Uh, if you want," Archie cleared his throat then, bringing my attention back to him. "My dad can probably write down some prices for things—like what he pays for cable, school. Things like that."

"Okay, thanks. That would be great," I nodded.

"You should stay with me," Sweet Pea spoke up, causing my head to turn toward him almost instantly. The words were surprising, unexpected. But his eyes were completely serious, staying on mine as he continued. "You've been practically living with me already. I've got most costs covered. All you'd have to worry about is you and Cash."

Part of me wished he hadn't brought it up with Archie present, so that I could respond freely, but there was nothing I could really do about it. "I don't know...we'd take up all your free space, and you've got your own school to worry about—plus certain other activities at all hours. Cash and I would just get in the way."

I couldn't quite tell if his reaction was good or bad. His eyes downcast in a slow nod, lips pressed in a thin line. Most signs pointed to bad. Just then, Mr. Andrews reentered the kitchen. "Hey, Diana? I could drive Cash to school if you like, give you a little extra time here?" he offered, pulling on his coat in the doorway. It was another unexpected offer. But I nodded quickly in agreement and thanked him, and he and Cash left the house.

Vegas looked to be pouting on the floor in the front of the door in Cash's absence. As I turned to face forward, my eyes caught Archie's, and I could tell he felt a bit uncomfortable with the odd tension I'd just driven the conversation into. But I didn't know how to change it. It wasn't that I didn't want to stay with Sweet Pea. If I was being completely honest, I would say I wasn't ready for something so big. Especially with what's going on.

There was something about sharing a home that felt so personal, so permanent. I couldn't move in, have it not work out, and then have to move Cash somewhere else again. If things were sour at any given point between me and Sweet Pea, Cash would be stuck in the middle of it. A sudden knock at the door caught all our attentions. Archie slid off his stool almost immediately, quickly volunteering to leave to go answer it. Probably thankful for an escape.

A part of me was worried about who it was. But mostly I was concerned with Sweet Pea, turning on my stool to face him more, eyes scanning his face. "Sweets...I didn't mean it badly," I tried to assure. "I'm just trying to think of a place for Cash right now. If it was just you and me, I would say yes. Without question." He nodded, lifting his head to look me in the eyes. It was obvious he understood, but was just disappointed.

"Hey, Diana," I perked up, twisting on the stool to see behind me, looking at Archie by the door. "Jug's here."

Sure enough, Jughead stood beside Archie, just inside the house. Archie closed the door behind him and stood, glancing between the two of us with a questioning look. There was no misreading the situation. Neither Jughead nor I knew quite where we stood. But I slid off my stool and exited the kitchen, walking the hall toward him. "So it _is_ true," Jughead said, eyes squinted on the left side of my face, his tone slightly angered. "He hit you, didn't he? Didn't he?"

I nodded, sighing, as I came to stand a foot from him. "Yeah, Jug, he hit me. Look- don't get all upset about it. I've already made it clear that no one is touching Ben. I don't want revenge, I just want to get somewhere far away from him."

Jughead exhaled, unimpressed with that conclusion. But he took a step forward and wrapped his arms around my shoulders in a tight hug. It was a welcomed gesture. I hadn't hesitated to hug him back just as tightly. "I'm sorry I've been AWOL lately," he apologized, his chin on my shoulder. "I should've been there—maybe I could've stopped it."

"Yeah, and maybe you would've been arrested for assault," I counted, light-heartedly, as we parted.

He sighed, but nodded. "You're probably right. Have you found a place to stay yet?"

"Not exactly. I'm still working things out-"

"Come stay at the trailer," he interjected, like the option should've been obvious. I was going to decline, but he kept talking before I could. "Look, Diana, that trailer is just as much yours as it is mine. With dad not there, it's just me. There's plenty of room for you and Cash. And Killer, if you must. We're family—it should be your first option."

Living with Jughead had a whole different idea to it than living with Sweet Pea. Jughead and I were siblings. So, if anything got weird, it's not like we could sever our ties. There's been nothing we hadn't bounced back from yet. And Cash would like getting to see Jughead still. I nodded slowly, the idea becoming more appealing as I thought about it. "Okay," I agreed. Just then, a knock sounded on the closed door. I looked to Archie, who only looked confused.

Archie sidestepped to open the door, pulling it open hesitantly. Standing outside on the porch was the last person I'd wanted to see then. _Ben_. He looked calm, casual. Like he hadn't done what he did. Like he was here to pick me up from a play date with my friends. Or a sleep over. He nodded to Archie, smiling politely. Then he looked directly at me. "Diana, we need to talk," he said, neutrally. "This avoiding each other, moving out, business is helping no one."

I crossed my arms, taking a step back as my eyebrows drew together. If I was being honest, I would say that a large portion of me was genuinely on edge, scared. But I didn't have to be honest, because Jughead's arm went around my back protectively. "She's not going anywhere with you—and you aren't stepping foot inside this house," Archie told Ben, standing in the doorway defiantly. "You need to leave. _Now_."

It happened in a split-second, in the bat of an eyelash. No one could comprehend what was happening until Sweet Pea had marched right past us all onto the porch, grabbing Ben by his jacket collar and slamming him into the wall to the right of the door. Jughead and I seemed to have the same reaction—stunned stillness, and then a hard startle at the loud smack of Ben's back hitting the wall. "Hey!" Archie shouted, rushing to stop him. "Let him go, man!"

I hurried to the doorway, Jughead right behind me. Sweet Pea was unwavering, shoving Ben into the wall even harder, getting right in his face. It was easy—considering Sweet Pea was much taller than Ben. "You think it's okay to hit young girls? How about someone your own size? Huh?" Sweet Pea sneered, smiling devilishly at Ben's stunned silence. "Can't do it now, can you, you _coward_?!"

Mr. Andrews' truck had just pulled into the driveway. It was still running when Mr. Andrews hurried out of it, rushing up the porch steps to help Archie pry Sweet Pea off of Ben. But neither of them were strong enough. It was a slight obvious tug against him, but otherwise a useless effort. Finally, I'd seen enough. I took a deep breath and elbowed Archie out of my way, reaching up and grabbing Sweet Pea's arm. "Sweets, stop it! That's enough—let him go," I said, angling myself so he could see my face.

For a moment, he didn't move. His eyes flickered between Ben's panicked orbs and mine. Debating the worth of doing as I asked. What would be more pleasurable? Being the bigger person and stepping away, or breaking Ben's nose? Obviously, breaking Ben's nose. Even I could agree with that. So I said it again. "Let him _go_ , Sweet Pea," I reiterated, a bit more calm this time, but still just as firm. "Please."

It wasn't immediate, but he dropped his grip on Ben, taking a step back. Mr. Andrews stepped forward then and grabbed Ben's arm. "Let's have a chat, Ben," Mr. Andrews said, before practically dragging Ben off the porch with him, back toward his still running pickup. Sweet Pea was fuming, exhaling deep puffs of air with eyes narrowed at Ben's back. I slid my hand down his arm into his hand, and gave it a tug. "Come on, you need to cool down," I exhaled, pulling him into the house.

He didn't fight me, even though he still looked ready to hit someone. I couldn't really blame him. Jughead and Archie filed inside after us, closing the door. I pulled Sweet Pea down to sit beside me on the couch, the hand holding his in my lap and the other combing the hair above his ear nearest me. "Thank you," I said, causing his eyes to actually meet mine. "For defending me. I adore the thought behind it, it just was taken a little too far."

"A little?" Archie's eyebrows popped, standing near the middle of the living room.

I shook my head, "Archie-"

"You got a problem, ginger?" Sweet Pea narrowed his eyes up at Archie.

Jughead grabbed Archie's arm then, tugging him toward the kitchen. "Archie, come on," Jughead said. "I think we all need to calm down a notch." Archie sighed, but nodded, going with Jughead into the kitchen. Jughead was right. The whole house had escalated so quickly into a fist fight. Everyone was riled up—even me. Sweet Pea's narrowed eyes followed them away, and I turned to face him, grabbing his face to get his attention to stay on me.

His eyes seemed to soften when they landed on mine. "Sweets...calm down, okay?" I spoke calmly, softly. "Don't look at them. Look at me." There wasn't much incentive needed. It was like his eyes were magnets reacting to mine, keeping both sets on the same spot. Though, there weren't many other places for them to go anyway. The magnetism pulled him forward, and I tipped my head back, openly accepting his lips with my own.


	25. 25: Feel It Still

It wasn't the oddest thing, living in FP's trailer with Jughead and Cash. It felt like home. Like we were all one little family. Jughead and I took turns walking Cash to school or making breakfast. Cash had never been happier. Her two favorite people under one roof, acting like her parents, with Killer always within arm's reach. It was her own personal paradise. I liked living there, too. But most of my free time was swallowed by my new job.

My third day at work, wiping down empty tables at Pop's. The uniform of velvet shorts and a small t-shirt wasn't too bad. Neither was the pay. The only problem I had with it was the foot traffic. Most of the kids from school traveled through here at least once a day, if not more. Either them, or their parents. I couldn't tell which was worse. I'd lost count of how many remarks had been made about me or my association with FP, or how many scowls I'd received.

But Pop kept me on. For some reason, he didn't feel the need to fire me over some stupid comments, and I was forever grateful for that. I finished wiping tables and headed back toward the front counter. Halfway there, the bell of the door rung with the sound of new customers. Except they weren't new. They were Serpents. Sweet Pea and two other younger looking Serpents walked in. With a grin, I whistled, causing all the Serpents to look right at me.

Sweet Pea's lips curved into a smirk as he started for me. "Hey, gorgeous," he greeted me with a kiss, hands sliding around my waist to my lower back as I rose on my toes to sling my arms around his neck. "How's work going?"

"Better than yesterday, now that you're here," I smiled up at him.

He chuckled at my words, "Good, because I brought a couple friends I want you to meet."

"Oh?" my eyebrows cocked, my smile remaining as we parted. "And who are these 'friends' I'm meeting?"

It was then that the two other Serpents with him—a boy of average height with tan skin, and a girl maybe as tall as my shoulder with darker skin and pink hair streaks—stepped over toward us. The boy wore a cautious look but the girl smiled at me with an unreadable light to her eyes. "This is Toni and that's Fangs," Sweet Pea said, his arm around my waist as he pointed to the girl and boy respectively.

I held my hand out to the girl, Toni, who happened to be closer. "Hi, I'm Diana," I smiled, giving a singular nod. She shook my hand a second before I moved to hold out my hand to Fangs. "It's nice to meet you guys." Fangs shook my hand, too, smiling a bit more now.

"Yeah, likewise," Toni nodded. "We were wondering how long it was going to take Sweet Pea to let us meet you."

My eyebrows rose in surprise and curiosity, and I twisted to look up at Sweet Pea. He gave her a narrowed-eyed expression with a hard scoff. Like she'd just said something he'd told her not to. "Can it, Topaz," he quickly warned, to which she only sighed.

Fangs narrowed his eyes, leaning to the right to see around me, down the aisle of booths. "Who's the kid?"

I'd twisted to glance behind me, but I really didn't need to. I had to bring Cash to work with me this time. She sat in a booth near the back, by the window, colored pencils and markers strewn about the table. Her coloring book planted firmly between her arms. "That's my sister," I answered, turning back toward the others. "My brother's busy, so, I get to work _and_ babysit today. Joy."

I said it with a mock enthusiasm that was overly sarcastic. In a kind of _shoot me now_ expression. "We can hang out with her for a while," Toni offered, casually. I moved to shake my head, to decline. But Fangs made a similar comment, agreeing with the pink-streaked Serpent. I didn't know how exactly Cash would react to sitting with Sweet Pea and two strangers. Then again, Cash was always sweet on any Serpent that wanted to walk in the door.

So I shrugged up one shoulder, "I mean...if you want?"

"Yeah, it'll be fun," Toni waved it away, like the notion of not wanting to was ridiculous.

She and Fangs started toward Cash's table, walking down the aisle, and Sweet Pea turned to me. "Don't worry, I'll make sure they behave," he assured, before placing a kiss on the top of my head. He parted from me then, following the path the others took down the aisle. I watched for a moment. Gauging reactions, temperaments. Cash only seemed more excited at a third guest joining her table. Toni sat to her left, Fangs and Sweet Pea across from her.

I couldn't tell what they were talking about but, whatever it was, Cash seemed pretty emotionally invested in it. Chuckling to myself, I went to the front counter. The dining room was only peppered with the occasional guest. It allowed for a lull in needing to move. But I still had to go to tables every now and then, check for needs, fulfilling them if need be. Mostly, it was just completing transactions at the register. Pop would wander out from the back every now and then.

Check up on me and the other various staff members. See how we were doing, if we needed a break. Pop Tate was the last genuinely decent person in Riverdale. I knew it working for him for only two and a half days. "Hey, Diana," he said, coming back from making his rounds down the aisles. I'd perked up from behind the register, in the middle of printing a receipt. "I see your sister's made some new friends."

I tore off the receipt from the machine and placed it on the small tray with the credit card used, smiling with a nod. His next words surprised me a bit, when he walked up to the counter in front of me, speaking in a hushed tone. "You know them, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's okay, Pop—it's just my boyfriend and a couple of his friends," I assured, to which he nodded, sighing in relief a little.

"Oh, good. I didn't know if I needed to kick out some delinquents," he chuckled, walking behind the counter.

Yes. Pop Tate was the only remaining decent person in Riverdale. I was sure of it then. It was like working for a genuinely caring grandfather. I took the credit card and receipt out into the dining room, down the aisle past Cash's table, to the customer that paid with it—Kevin and his dad, Sheriff Keller. "Here you go, guys," I smiled politely, putting the card and receipt on the table near the Sheriff. "Have a nice night."

Sheriff Keller thanked me, being polite as usual. Kevin seemed his usual chipper self as well. But the sight of the Sheriff got me thinking about FP. How terrible the case looked. It would seem a part of me was still refusing to let it go. How could I, with Jason's Letterman jacket tucked under the couch I slept on every night?

* * *

When Cash and I got home, Jughead was already there. Cash had eaten already—way too much, if you asked me—so she went straight to bed. Passing out as soon as her little head hit the pillow. But I dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, opposite Jughead, from where he sat behind his open laptop, typing away. I crossed my arms with a deep sigh, and Jug glanced up from his screen. "Get any good tips?"

"It's not that kind of job," I narrowed my eyes at his smirk.

"Relax, you know I'm just joking," he chuckled, before sitting back in his seat. "Seriously, though—how was it?"

"Fine. Sweet Pea and a couple of the Serpents hung out with Cash for a while, so she's going to sleep pretty happy right now. But, Jug...I think I need to tell you something. Or- show you. It's been messing with me all night."

His eyebrows drew together, one rising. I got up from the table and tip toed across the room to the couch. Underneath it was the dark duffel bag holding Jason's jacket. It was smashed under there, but I tugged it out and brought it to the table. Jughead sat up in his seat, more concerned than curious at this point. "What's this?" he questioned.

"Evidence," I answered. My fingers worked the zipper open, and I pulled out the jacket. "Joaquin said this was his and FP's contingency plan. I didn't know what to do with it."

Jughead stood now, eyes wide, "So you _kept_ it?!"

"It was Jason's. And this would only further incriminate dad," I pointed out. I pulled the jacket out all the way, giving it a single shake in a gesture. "This jacket, and the fact that FP had it, proves that he killed Jason—without a doubt." My hands began to wad it up to fit it back in the bag while I sighed. A sudden clanking sound caused me pause, and I glanced down.

On top of the table, beneath the wad of a jacket I held, was a small silver flash drive. Jughead and I were both silent. Neither knowing just how to respond. But we both held wide eyes of surprise. Jughead was the first to speak, glancing up at me, lifting a bony finger toward the drive, "Did you know that was-"

I quickly shook my head. "No."

"What do you think is on it?"

"I don't know...more evidence?"

"Only one way to find out." Jughead tipped his head toward his laptop in a gesture. Plugging in the flash drive and seeing what was on it sounded like a normal thing to do. But not if you thought about what could be on it. Something more incriminating? Something completely unrelated, but still bad? I didn't know if it was such a good idea. Jughead grabbed the flash drive and stuck it into the USB port on his laptop, and I moved to stand beside him.

It allowed for a better view of the screen. Sitting back down in the chair, he clicked to open the drive's files. It was empty except for one mp4 file. Jughead didn't hesitate to click on it, but I'd been holding my breath since he plugged it in. "Jug, are you sure this is-" my voice caught in my throat as the video began to play. The scenery wasn't hard to place—the basement of the Whyte Wyrm. It was Jason, tied to a chair, with a Serpent up in his face.

That Serpent was Mustang. Jughead glanced up at me at some point, but I couldn't look away from the screen. My inability to move worsened when Mustang left the room and was replaced by none other than Clifford Blossom, Jason's father. I'd clutched the Letterman jacket to my chest as my muscles tightened in anticipation. On the screen, Clifford took the ring from Jason's pocket. Then he took three steps away, turned toward his son, and held up a gun.

A revolver—the one found in the lock box in FP's trailer. The very trailer Jughead and I stood in, watching that video. What happened next I will never forget. Clifford Blossom put a bullet in his own son's forehead. With an unwavering resolve and placid expression, he didn't even blink. But I'd startled hard, dropping the jacket, shuffling back a step. Tears were pouring from my eyes as it all finally started to make sense. As it settled in two simple facts—Clifford Blossom was a murderer, and my father was not.

FP had confessed but— _obviously_ —he didn't kill Jason. Jughead closed the lid on the laptop, ending my two minutes of torture. But it only opened up a whole new set of pain. How could a father kill his own son? Fathers were supposed to be guardians, protectors of their families. Not the ones that put them in the ground. "Jug...dad didn't do it," my voice was barely audible, but Jughead stood, turning to face me as I spoke. "We have to tell Sheriff Keller."

* * *

We told the Sheriff that night that they'd arrested the wrong man for the crime, showing him the video on the drive as evidence. But it wasn't going to change much for his case. Jughead was in a yelling match with Keller over it. And Keller had said there were still too many charges to release FP. Obstruction of justice, tampering with evidence, perjury, mishandling a body—and probably many others. I'd guessed that's what happened when you didn't commit the crime, but instead covered it up.

It wasn't until later we'd learned why. Clifford Blossom had paid FP a visit the night he was arrested, and told him to confess to the murder or he would hurt me and Jughead. When comparing the two—Clifford and FP—it wasn't hard to spot the real father. But it still didn't help FP. Nothing seemed to help at this point. In the morning, I made the decision to visit him. Considering how the last one went, I didn't expect much.

But I knew now. I knew everything. So there wasn't much he could lie to me about anymore. When I walked in, FP was sitting on the edge of the cot, his head in his hands. The deputy that escorted me in promptly stepped out, leaving me with at least some privacy as he closed the door. I took in a deep breath, "Rough morning?"

His head lifted almost immediately, a look of surprise coloring his worn features. I'm sure I looked just as bad—considering I didn't sleep last night. I'd waited in the lobby all night. Too anxious to sleep. FP's eyes became downcast as he exhaled, but he didn't speak. I slid my hands in my pockets, taking steps toward the bars, and stopped a foot from them. "You're a good liar when it counts, I'll give you that," I said. "But I saw the video myself—I know it wasn't you.

"You watched it?" he stood up from the cot then.

"Who do you think brought it to the Sheriff, dad? I've been sitting in the lobby all night waiting to see you," I replied. He'd walked to the bars, and hung his head as he sighed, leaning his palms into them as I continued. "You were trying to protect us. I can't really hold that against you."

"Diana, you know I never..." he stopped himself a moment, his lower lip quivering as he took in a deep breath, and my eyebrows drew together with worry. "I never wanted you to go away. I wanted you to stay with us, but Ben had other ideas...I should've fought harder for you. But I'm fighting now—that's the only reason I agreed to confess-"

I shook my head, stepping forward. "Dad, it's okay."

My fingers gripped the bars just below his, almost close enough to touch. I'd wanted to hug him then. Wanted to bury my face in the leather of his jacket and breathe in his scent to calm myself like I'd used to. But I couldn't. Clifford Blossom made sure of that. FP sighed, hanging his head a bit. "So, what am I missing out there? You and your sister doin' alright?" he asked, changing the subject on purpose.

It was hard to keep a straight face. Honestly, Cash had never been better. But I'd been slipping again. It was becoming my super power—crying. FP's eyes swept up to meet mine upon my following silence, and his face changed to a concerned awareness. He stood up a bit more. "Did something happen?" he asked, genuinely worried now. "Talk to me, kid. What's going on?"

I took in a deep breath, and cleared my throat. "Cash and I are living with Jughead at your trailer."

"Why? What happened to living with Ben?" his voice was risen in curiosity and concern.

"Well, dad, Mr. Perfect thinks it's okay to hit teenage girls," with my words, FP leaned his forehead into the bars, closing his eyes through a deep sigh. It was obvious he was trying to calm himself, but his knuckles were only whitening where they gripped the metal bars. Reluctantly, I continued. "I'm working at Pop's to keep us above water, trying to manage it with school. But I'm transferring to South Side High as soon as Ben gets around to signing off on it."

FP shook his head, looking up now. "No—Diana, _no_. I don't care where you live, you're going to Riverdale High."

"Why? I don't live on the North side anymore and, frankly, I'm getting tired of walking."

"Then take the truck. That high school is no place for you. Or Jughead. But at least I know _he_ could take it, if need be," FP said, seriously. His words caused me to cross his arms, cocking an eyebrow, but deep down I knew he was probably right. Given my history, I understood why he didn't think I could handle it. Even though it smarted to hear it out loud. The stubbornness in me refused to except it as truth in that moment, and I was determined to correct him.

So that's exactly what I did. "Dad, I know I'm not the most emotionally strong person in the world. But I can do this. I want to get my life back to where it should be—and this is the way to do it. Out of respect for you, if Ben doesn't sign off, I won't go. But if he magically decides to be descent, I'm going."

His eyes remained the same for a long, quiet moment, where they focused on mine with a thoughtful seriousness. He was weighing his options. Trying to find a way around this—around me and my hard head. But he was seeing in me exactly what I saw in that moment— _himself_. Finally, he gave in, exhaling. "Fine. But you stay close to the other Serpents," he said. "If someone starts to push you around, tell Sweet Pea I told him to kick their a-"

"I will," I nodded once, interjecting before he could swear unnecessarily. "But I have a feeling he'll already have it covered."

* * *

It was morning. What time specifically, I didn't know. But the post-rain morning light was peering in softly through the little window, letting me know it was probably time to get up, even though I didn't dare move. It was too perfect. _He_ was too perfect. On his stomach with his hands beneath his pillow, a good portion of his face smashed into the pillow case, his hair sticking up at all ends, eyes closed with a soft expression of relaxed features.

I didn't want to be the one to ruin such a beautiful thing. So, against my better judgment, I didn't. I readjusted my position to relieve the ache in my shoulder, letting the blood flow back into my arm, and sighed in contentment. Absentmindedly, my fingertips ever so gently trailed a slow line along the contour of his arm, following the line of muscle until it disappeared beneath the pillow. To think that this man truly existed was unfathomable.

To think that he was mine? Impossible. I never thought we'd get here. The first relationship that was truly a relationship was Archie. And you all know exactly how that ended. So to say I had low expectations when we started dating was an understatement. But this was so different. It wasn't full of anxiety. It was peaceful, laying there in his bed, waiting out the morning beneath the covers. It was one of the most relaxing things to watch him sleep.

When he stirred, I'd quickly retracted my hand. He settled after readjusting his position on his pillow with an exhale and I let myself relax again. Then the unthinkable happened. My cell phone vibrated violently against the nightstand in one strong, solid buzz. I reacted quickly—turning over and grabbing the phone to remove it from the wood. But the damage had already been done. Sweet Pea flopped onto his back, throwing an arm across his face to block the light.

I sat up against the pillow behind me, pulling my phone into my lap. "Whoever's calling you this early needs to be shot," Sweet Pea grumbled, his voice a bit deeper than usual in his groggy state.

"It's just a text message—and, actually, most people in my address book are awake and getting for school right now. Like we should be," I corrected, grinning softly at his still covered face. He only blew air through his lips in a huff, a kind of snort, and I turned back to my cell phone. It was text messages from Cheryl. Of all the people I'd expected it to be, she was the last. But I opened the messages regardless, without hesitation out of sheer curiosity.

 _AT 7:09AM_

 **CHERYL: Are you awake?**

 _AT 8:37AM_

 **CHERYL: Can we talk?  
**

 _AT 8:52AM_ **  
CHERYL: I really need to talk to you  
CHERYL: Please text me back**

My eyebrows drew together reading the messages, a small part of my consciousness keeping track of the dip in the mattress, the jostle of the springs as Sweet Pea got up. The urgency in the words made me anxious. "Babe? I'm gonna take a shower," Sweet Pea's voice caused me to glance up, my eyes landing on the frame of his face in the bathroom doorway.

I pushed a smile onto my face, "Okay."

There was always a slight slant of a smirk to his lips, even half asleep, and it never failed to make my stomach flop. He disappeared behind the bathroom door and I slid off the bed. My fingers plucked the first article of clothing on the floor—which happened to be one of Sweet Pea's t-shirts—and I pulled it on over my head before treading to the kitchen on my toes, cell phone in hand. The t-shirt was more than large enough to fall below my boy shorts.

But it was only made more comfortable with his scent still lingering on the fabric. I walked straight to the fridge and pulled open the door, reaching in for the box of pizza from the night before. I'd tossed the box on the counter, then hoisted myself up to sit beside it, lifting the lid only enough to sneak a slice out. With the pizza slice hanging out of my mouth, I typed a reply to Cheryl. I told her we could talk before school if we met at Pop's—leaving out the bit that it was more convenient for me because I could pick up my paycheck at the same time.

She's responded almost instantly with an agreement and I'd set my now quieted phone beside me, but something still didn't sit right with me. Why was she texting me so early? Why did she seem so urgent? If it was an emergency, surely she would have told me. Wouldn't she? I sighed, leaning my back into the cupboards behind me, and ran my free hand through my hair. Even short, my hair was a rat's nest. Something magical happened when I slept to make my hair get so tangled that I would never discover.

"You better not eat all of that."

My head instinctively turned in a loll against the cupboards. Sweet Pea was taking steps into the kitchen from the bedroom, his dark jeans the only article of clothing on him, drying his shaggy hair with a towel. I cocked an eyebrow. "You want pizza? You're gonna have to take it," I taunted, before taking a bite from the slice I held.

"Alright," he tossed the used towel on the back of the dining chair and turned to me with a mischievous grin. "But remember you asked for it."


	26. 26: Running With The Wolves

When I walked into Pop's, my eyes drifted over the aisles of booths. But it didn't take more than a second's glance to spot Cheryl's flaming head of hair. She sat in a booth near the front, in the center row, with her back to the door. I went down the aisle and dropped into the booth seat opposite her. She startled a little, but recovered with her usual amount of grace and poise. "Diana," she said, sounding a little surprised. "I didn't know if you would actually come."

"Why wouldn't I?" I asked, curiously.

"I don't know. I mean, you've just been busy lately—starting your new job and moving and all."

She shook it off with a casual shrug and light smile. But it didn't seem like I was talking to Cheryl. It was like I was talking to some kind of body double. Someone pretending to be Cheryl, inside Cheryl's body. It only made me more curious, but I didn't get a chance to ask before she changed the subject. "So, how are things at the trailer park?" she smiled, her arms folded on the edge of the table.

"They're great, actually. Cash can't get enough of Jughead. Killer is making the whole place smell like one giant dog. But it's great—we're all a lot closer," I replied.

Her smiled widened as she nodded through my words. "That's so nice. And how are things with your mystery beau?" I hadn't known Cheryl was so acutely attuned to the changes of my life. We talked about things over text a lot. But I never told her _that_. All she did was make a _pfft_ and playfully nudge my arm from across the table at my slight surprise. "Please. We've been friends for how long now? You can't keep tall, dark, and greasy a secret from _me_."

I tried to smile back, against my body's anxious restrictions. " _Things_ , as you call them, are fine. But...are you okay, Cheryl?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" she asked, obliviously.

"You made it sound like an emergency on your messages," I explained, as neutrally as possible. Her expression dropped a flicker, and she sat back in her booth, eyes downcast. "And you're being uncharacteristically interested. I was a little worried, Cher."

"Well, D, you mustn't be. Everything's fine," she perked up, plastering her smile on again.

I'd shrugged it off then to the best of my abilities. Everything was obviously not fine. Cheryl Blossom had a gruesome life of mental and somewhat physical abuse. If she was having a bad day, or had a bad night, and just wanted a friend—I would give her that. After all, a part of me still felt guilty for Jason's death. No. Jason's _murder_. And I owed it to Jason to keep an eye on his sister.

* * *

I slid my tray onto the lunch table to the left of Veronica and dropped onto the bench seat. As usual, I'd come into the group a bit late. But they had no trouble filing me in the day's events. Apparently Mayor McCoy wanted Archie and Betty apart of the Jubilee ceremony. But Betty turned her down because I apparently couldn't be involved. My eyebrows drew together, speaking around a mouthful of my sandwich, " _What_?! You turned down a speaking part at the _Jubilee_ over _me_?"

It was a drastic surprise. And I was pretty sure I was flicking Kevin—sitting across from me—with sandwich, but I wasn't paying much attention. Betty looked surprised by my surprise. "Well...yeah," she replied, refraining from taking a bite of her apple to answer me. "I mean- you practically solved the case. _You_ were the one that found the drive and exposed Cheryl's dad. You're the real hero here."

"No, Betty, I got to the investigation late and stumbled onto the drive through my own stupidity," I corrected, only partly sarcastic.

"Either way, _you_ should be the one speaking," Betty was adamant.

I'd let it go with a sigh, moving my eyes back down to my sandwich. There was no point arguing with her over it. Then the conversation turned to a topic more personal for me—FP. I'd perked up at Archie's question to Jughead, "How's your dad? Did you get in to see him?" and my eyes went straight across the table, to the right, and up to Jughead's face in one swift swipe. Jughead's eyes shifted toward mine, catching them for a second in an almost guilty expression.

Jughead had gone to see FP and didn't tell me? He immediately sighed, looking to me fully. "I'm sorry, Diana. I was going to tell you this morning, but you weren't at the trailer," he explained, apologizing. Then he turned to Archie to answer his question, "Mayor McCoy wants my dad to name names in exchange for a lesser sentence."

"What? Whose names?" Betty was quick to ask.

I leaned forward onto the table with folded arms, "The Serpents?"

It was completely rhetorical, with a sick feeling in my gut. Jughead nodded knowingly, and I sat back, shaking my head. "Sheriff Keller thinks they're the ones dealing the drugs that Clifford Blossom brought into the town," he answered, for everyone else's sakes.

"My dad says more and more drugs are hitting the streets," Kevin piped up, as if it were a proper justification.

"Kevin, relax. This isn't _The Wire_ ," Jughead snapped back, silencing the Sheriff's son.

Immediately I felt eyes on me. Only upon looking up did I know to whom they belonged—Archie Andrews. He'd leaned forward around Veronica to see me, only furthering my stomach's notion that this conversation was going more South than the Serpents of topic. "Hey, Diana- what does Sweet Pea say about all this?"

He'd sounded genuinely curious—as if Sweet Pea somehow had to have golden insight no one but me knew about. And right then all eyes flicked to me almost simultaneously. Kevin and Jughead didn't look surprised. But they did look a little shocked it came up. Like Archie had uttered the forbidden words. Betty and Veronica only looked intrigued and semi-confused. I'd shrugged, playing it down, before clearing my throat.

"He thinks it's all bull. Serpents don't deal in hard drugs—FP made sure of that. I mean- he was threatened and coerced into _at least_ taking the blame for the murder. How do we know he wasn't threatened to facilitate it as well?" I proposed the thought, standing on a high soap box with a hushed but still risen tone. "If you want hard drugs on the South side, you'll find them in a back alley with some grease monkey whose too high to count the bills. Not with a Serpent— _period_."

Veronica turned toward me a bit, "And _how_ exactly do you know this?"

"Yeah, Diana. How do you know?" Kevin sat forward a little, giving me a knowing look.

My eyes narrowed at him, but he only raised his brows expectantly, causing me to exhale heavily. "My father's a Serpent and so is my boyfriend—you should know a little something about that one, right, Kev?" My voice was patronizing, sickeningly so. But Kevin was unwavering. I'd heard Joaquin left town after talking to me and Sweet Pea. By the looks of Kevin's attitude, I'd say he wasn't over it quite yet.

Betty frowned. "Your father... _is_ a Serpent? What about the car accident?"

I looked right at Kevin with a steely glare but he ignored me, stirring his salad with a grin. Getting off on just how in-hot-water I was. Which made my skin crawl with anger and annoyance more and more each second. "Diana and I are half related," Jughead spoke up, coolly, causing me to look to his end of the table in surprise. "My dad slept with her mom— _long_ story."

"And the punchline? Now that I know, FP's in jail. Just my luck, I guess," I smiled placidly through my dry sarcasm.

"Oh, boo hoo," Kevin sneered, looking up from his tray at me.

My eyes turned on him, "What is your _problem_ , Keller?"

"My problem?! My problem is that you and your mountain of a boyfriend drove mine out of town. And now I have to sit here and listen to you whine about your problems like you've got it so much worse than everyone else here," he answered—brutal, but honest. Everyone at the table was shocked. Everyone but me. "You get to keep your boyfriend, your best friend, your dad's in jail but he's still around. This whole time you're playing the victim while simultaneously sporting snake ink and wearing leather after dark. You're a bold-faced _liar_ , Diana. _That's_ my problem."

Everyone had been shocked into silence the moment he opened his mouth. Now, too many questions swirled for anyone to settle on just one in order to open _their_ mouths. Kevin's eyes bore into mine with such heat and intensity—I swore I could physically feel my eyes start to melt from their sockets. Eyes were on me. Eyes were on Kevin. It was anxious, but I moved carefully.

"I'm sorry, Kevin, I really am. But if the only thing I've done to truly offend you is expose Joaquin for _using_ you, then, be my guest. Hate me. But it is _not_ on me," I replied, with a calmed but angered tone.

"No. It's on your _dad_ ," Kevin nodded, digging in his jab.

My eyebrows popped with a singular nod, in a _duh_ gesture. Then I leaned forward into the table, hushing my voice, but drenching it with venom. "If you wanna play ball, Kevin...let's play. But don't, for one second, think you know a _thing_ about my life _or_ who I am," it was a snarl, an intimidation tactic. But he needed to get the point. "Make that mistake again, and you'll find out- _this_ snake? _It bites back_."

Kevin looked like he'd seen a ghost. All color drained from his face, eyes slightly rounded, pupils dilated. Silence thicker than butter followed my words. Unwavering from my stance in the topic, I promptly excused myself from the table and relinquished my tray to the trash receptacle.

* * *

Knowing our little circle of 'friends' knew what I was— _who_ I was—wasn't what plagued me the next day at school. It was the shunning. All were staring, whispering, avoiding. Making it to my locker was the easiest it'd ever been, given the fact that no one dared cross my path. But I had no idea why. As far as I knew, the news of me being a Serpent stopped at the lunch table. As I found out, I was wrong.

My locker was adorned with a blood red S. I could ignore it. But when I opened my locker door, a slew of rubber snakes came tumbling out. Nothing but more red smeared on the inside of the door left in their place. The red was swirled into letters. Something I vowed never to repeat. But the gist was that I— _apparently_ —colluded with FP to kill Jason. The biggest word on the locker door was _MURDERER_.

Chest moving a bit rapidly to keep up with my veins, I tried to calm myself by taking deep breaths. Blood painted on my locker to spell out _murderer_ , an enlarged S on the front, with a few dozen rubber snakes. It was petty. Juvenile. But half the student body was murmuring, the flash of cell phone cameras illuminating my shadow on the locker beside me. "Diana," a familiar male voice came from my right—Archie. He sped in, sliding to a stop beside me, talking fast. "I'm so sorry, I tried to warn you—you weren't answering your phone-"

As I turned toward him, I spotted Kevin. He stood on the other side of the hall with Veronica, obviously having come from the other end of the hall with her, still in conversation. They were oblivious to my rage. I inhaled deeply, my fingers curling into fists. "Did you know?" I shouted just a little, enough for him to hear.

Surely enough, Kevin looked up, caught my eyes. "What?"

"Did you know?!" I repeated, angrier, louder.

His eyes fixed on the locker behind me, and his face dropped. But my mind didn't see it. My feet carried me across the hall in an instant. I grabbed Kevin's shirt collar and pushed him back into the lockers, his books scattering to the floor in a mess, and the poor kid nearly dropped a brick. He was too in shock to fight back. "So, _what_? Your 'boyfriend' didn't actually love you so you decide to ruin someone's life?" I spat in his face, though I was honestly about to cry.

It was hard to keep it together, as the implications of this moment began to fill my mind and swirl, tangling into a mess of anxiety—bringing a new level to my personal hell. "D-D-Diana, I swear! I had _nothing_ to do with this!" Kevin quickly shook his head, eyes wider than a full moon. "I didn't tell anyone! Yeah, I was mad at you. But I would never-!"

"Let him go, Diana!" Archie's voice came from behind as I felt his hands grip my arms.

He pulled, hard, and my grip faltered in my own emotions, letting him tug me away from Kevin. More white flashes than before were blooming up out of seemingly nowhere, like the entire student body got an invite to my social demise. And, maybe they did? Maybe that was the plan all along? My first reaction was to blame the only person I knew for sure had a grudge against me. Then Archie all but dragged me to the Blue and Gold's office.

Shutting the door, he let me go, and I walked further into the room to hide my tears of embarrassment. "Diana, it wasn't Kevin," Archie spoke his words carefully, hesitantly. "It was Betty. She wrote an article for the paper about FP's innocence and she mentioned some things she shouldn't have. She got hit, too—pretty bad."

I leaned my palms into one of the tables to hold myself upright, sniffling hard. "Betty did this? _Why_?"

"I don't know. But we can go talk to her together-"

"No," I shook my head, wiping my cheeks with my shirt sleeves. Then I turned around to face him. "I'm done. With this school, with these people—all of it. Ben signed the paperwork this morning. I transfer to South Side High effective immediately. This little show is just a reminder of why I wanted to leave in the first place."

I dug my phone from my pocket, then opened the string of text messages between me and my snake emoji contact. Telling my Serpent boyfriend to come get me when I was literally being run out of the school by a bunch of Serpent haters wasn't the best idea for my image. But I didn't care. Not anymore.

 **ME: Wanna skip school?**

 **SP: Babe, do you even have to ask?**

 **ME: Come get me.**

 **SP: Everything okay?**

 **ME: Just hurry.**

Archie was rambling on, trying to convince me of something. I'd tuned him out many minutes before my head snapped up from my phone, ears finally tuning into the monologue he was free-styling. "...you don't have to go—this isn't the end!" he said, now standing two feet in front of me, speaking adamantly. "Since when has what people say bothered you anyway?"

"Since there are people getting hurt on the South side because everyone's blaming the Serpents for hell itself—and I just got lumped in with them publicly. Know what that means? Cash is now a Serpent in their eyes. She's a target. I need to leave," I replied, with a seriousness that actually seemed to get through to him. His shoulders dropped, and he didn't protest or try to hold me back when I let myself out of the small office. I had a minimum of five more minutes.

So I went straight to my defiled locker. I'd elbowed through the piranha still lingering. As if these kids didn't have class. Or something better to do than post on social media that I was a Serpent, smearing it around a few million times for good measure. You know, just to make sure _everyone_ knows. It was repulsive. Looking past the blood smears, I put my books in my bag as it hung on my shoulder, and stuffed anything else I didn't want to leave behind in along with them.

Because, as soon as I walked out those doors, I wasn't coming back. I made that clear to myself as I avoided eye contact with the masses, shoving through to get to an empty patch of hall to walk in, and headed for the exit. It was near the beginning of school. But the thought of missing a day for this didn't seem like much of a problem to me when I weighed my options. Sweet Pea was just pulling up by the front steps when I made it through the door.

It wouldn't have been hard to see something was wrong with me. I had a habit of making it painfully obvious. But I shook my head, taking the steps two at a time. "I'll explain later," I promised, jogging to his bike. His features were creased with concern, twisting to see me as I climbed on behind him.

"Do I need to beat someone up before we leave?" he was completely serious.

I sighed a little, "Not unless you want to take out the entire school."

Even from the angle I was given, I could still tell he was working it out in his head. Thinking up all the ways he could make it possible. But when I expressed the importance of leaving as soon as possible—what with the risen tension between North and South—he pulled himself from his diabolical plot of mass violence, and we sped out of the parking lot.

* * *

The snow was falling softly, visible through the window to my far left. But instead of being enamored with one of nature's greatest wonders, my eyes were stuck on the laptop screen just left of my hip, displaying only my favorite movie ever— _Casablanca_. It'd been playing for a while. Sweet Pea had been sitting beside me on the bed with an arm around my shoulders originally. But that somehow changed into his head on my chest, arms tight around my waist, his legs tangled with mine.

It was fine. And then he fell asleep just past the halfway mark. Snoring softly against my rib cage now. I'd gently slithered my fingers through his hair in slow strokes as I watched, too enthralled to move elsewhere, and it only seemed to keep him asleep. But I didn't mind. Not really. Yesterday was my first day at South Side High. It wasn't all that bad. Except for the fact that no one seems to actually put in an effort. And not to mention the creeps Toni called 'Ghoulies'.

What kind of name was that, anyway? It wasn't intimating. Just pathetic. I'd sat at the Serpent table during lunch with Sweet Pea, Toni, Fangs, and a handful of other Serpents. There were too many to remember their names just yet. That part would take a lot of practice. Either way, it was all-in-all a better, more calm experience than what I'd had at Riverdale High. Probably because I didn't have to hide who I was there.

I'd gone to school in black denim shorts, fishnets, and a navy blue crop top. But, most importantly, I wore my Serpent jacket. And it was the most alive I'd felt since this whole transition to my true self started. I could wear my jacket anywhere I wanted down here. On the South Side, that jacket meant no touching. If you try to touch, there's about a half a dozen other Serpents around the corner that can back me up, and will probably beat you senseless, too.

Knowing I had backup whenever, wherever, was a confidence boost. Especially since Fangs seemed to be taking a liking to Cash. The times I'd had to have Cash with me at Sweet Pea's because Jughead was out, somehow a beacon went up into the sky like the bat signal—and, magically, and wild Fangs appeared. Fully equipped and ready to play Battle Ship with a nine year old for the next two hours. Cash seemed to like him, too, so I tried not to get too much in the way.

A sudden, hard rap of beats echoed into the bedroom from the living area, and my body lurched in a startle. Sweet Pea's head shot up then, eyes squinted hard against the sudden change in light. "You okay?" he asked, groggily.

"Yeah," I exhaled, with a nod. "Someone's at the door."

His eyebrows drew together in question, and he twisted to look at the open bedroom door. Trying to think of who exactly would be banging on his door. Then another set of hard raps echoed in—slightly louder this time—followed by a familiar male voice. " _Sweet Pea, is my sister in there?_ " It was Jughead, sounding completely unamused and slightly impatient. With a heavy groan, Sweet Pea rolled off of me and pushed himself up to stand in one fluid motion.

I clicked pause on the movie, then quickly crawled to the end of the bed, swinging my legs off before pattering after Sweet Pea into the kitchen. He'd already made it to the door, opening it as I came through, quickening my pace to reach the door. "What do you want, Jones?" Sweet Pea questioned, disinterested.

"Babe," I called, just before making it to the door, sliding into the opening. Sweet Pea glanced down at me as I continued, "I got this."

He didn't say anything in reply—he didn't need to. But he slid a hand onto my lower back, pulling me closer to him as he leaned down, pressing his lips to mine in a surprisingly deep kiss. When we parted, he sauntered back to the bedroom, and I could let my shoulders relax. Facing the open front door brought me face to face with a slightly annoyed Jughead. "What?" I asked, innocently, shrugging up a shoulder.

Jughead sighed, "Put some actual pants on. We need to talk."


	27. 27: The River

Jughead and I walked the main drag of South Side High, making our way to Jughead's new locker with my navigational skills. "It should be..." I hummed a bit, before stopping at the right number, tapping the cool metal with my index finger. "Right here."

"Well, now you have no excuse when you ditch me to hang out with your boyfriend," Jughead commented, dialing his combination into the new lock.

I scoffed, crossing my arms as my back touched the locker beside his. "Are you sure not telling your girlfriend you're here is a good idea?"

There was a certain level of disdain I held in my voice when saying the term _girlfriend_. Probably because I was filled with the knowledge of who that girlfriend was and what she'd done. Jughead looked at me with a certain _seriously?_ expression, unamused. "Come on, Diana. We talked about this. Betty didn't know how important it was to keep your Serpent-hood a secret, and she made a bad call," he said, to which I sighed. "She didn't do it to hurt you. It wasn't personal."

My left eyebrow popped, "Oh, so that makes it okay?"

"No. It just means it's something you can forgive," he corrected, in all seriousness.

He wasn't giving me a choice with his statement. I could tell by his pointed expression that I was going to be accepting whatever apology Betty Cooper decided was good enough to throw at me. After a light roll of my eyes, I opened my mouth to respond. But, instead of forming words, my lips curved into a wide, Cheshire smile as my eyes settled on Sweet Pea down the hall. He was walking this way, having just got into the building.

My chest tightened a fraction in anticipation as his eyes landed on me and his signature smirk appeared on his lips. I pushed off the locker as he neared me, slinging my arms around his neck when he was close enough. His arms had gone around my waist and lifted my feet from the ground, holding me up enough to kiss him at his height. My feet touched the ground as we parted. "Hey, handsome," I was smiling like an idiot, a slight pink hue to my cheeks.

"Hey, gorgeous," he smirked down at me.

"Can you guys at least _try_ not to make me throw up so early in the morning?" Jughead quipped, with dry sarcasm.

A bit playfully, I reached over and shoved the side of his face with my fingers. He swatted at me, his eyebrows scrunching, nose wrinkling, and leaned out of my reach. Recoiling like a disciplined cat. It left a grin on my face, only adding to my upbeat mood that morning. It was a normal school day. Jughead's schedule left us with only three classes together out of the entire day, but we tried to sit together in all three of them.

After History, I'd gone to my locker to trade books. I was convinced Sweet Pea only tagged along because it would be too much work to move his arm off my shoulders. But I didn't mind the company. The only thing that annoyed me was my cell phone buzzing. Not so much the phone call, but the person calling me. Betty Cooper. I'd seen the caller ID just as we arrived at my locker. Sweet Pea must have seen my face, because he asked, "You okay, babe?"

"Yeah...just my brother's ignorant girlfriend," I groaned, moving away from his side to open my locker.

The plan was not to answer the call. Maybe she would get the hint and leave me alone? "That blonde North sider?" Sweet Pea's back hit the locker beside mine, his arms crossing over his broad chest with a tone of utter disgust. "If she's going to start showing up here, maybe Jughead should've stayed at Riverdale."

My eyes rolled to the right, landing on his. "I kind of agree—but Jughead's staying here. That school doesn't deserve him. Let the spoiled brat throw a temper tantrum and throw a few things. After a while, it'll get boring, and Betty will forget I ever existed."

It was more a hope than reality. Because, the second after I said it, she called again. Once again, I ignored it. Changing out my books without a care. Not three seconds after the ringing stopped, it started again. And this time I was done. With a harsh swear under my breath, I slammed the book I held back down in my locker and answered the call. "Can't you take a hint, _Barbie_?" I spat, into the speaker.

There was a small pause, followed by a hesitant, "Hey, Diana...um...have you seen Jughead today?"

"Yes, Betty, I live with him. And _no_ —he doesn't want to talk to you."

"Look, D, I'm really sorry about not telling you I was writing the article-"

"Whoa, wait- you're sorry you didn't _tell_ me? So, you're not sorry you wrote it _at all_?" I scoffed, hard, shifting my weight back onto my heels. "Wow. Writing that article put both me _and_ my sister at risk by smearing our names into the public eye. If you think I'm just upset that you didn't give me a head's up, you have more problems than your crazy mother."

With that charming insult spoken purely in rage, my thumb slammed into the _end call_ button and I slid my phone into my back pocket through a heavy sigh. I'd felt eyes on me the entire phone conversation. I hadn't realized it was because Fangs walked up mid-call. The poor boy probably just wanted to get to his locker—just to the left of mine. He stood a foot or two to my left with a stunned, wide-eyed expression. "Wow. Remind me never to get on your bad side," he commented, cautiously walking the extra steps between us.

I exhaled, huffing a chuckle, and grabbed the book I'd all but thrown into my locker. Sweet Pea turned to press his right side into the lockers, still with arms crossed, and leaned closer to me in his new position. "That was really sexy," he smirked, voice just above a whisper.

"If you told me all I had to do to get you interested is yell at someone when we started dating, this relationship would've gone _a_ _lot_ differently," I replied, with a little smirk of my own.

The words pulled up the corners of his lips into a full on smile, a light glow to his brown irises. "Hey, D, if you're not too busy this weekend—could you help me study for Mr. Philips' test on Monday?" Fangs' voice cut through the tension, causing me to turn my head away from the distracting tide of the teenage boy at my right. Fangs was sorting his own books, taking sporadic glances at me, unbothered by the previous comments made.

I cleared my throat, retrieving my Algebra book before closing the locker door. "Yeah, sure. I'll even make flashcards."

His glance stayed on me at that, and I winked, causing him to shake his head with an airy string of chuckles. From there, the three of us proceeded to Algebra. It was one of the three classes Jughead and I actually had together. At the doorway, Jughead stopped me, asked me what was wrong. Apparently I still seemed annoyed. Because I was. I told him he needed to call his girlfriend and ask her before finding a seat in the classroom.

Jughead didn't attend that class. It seemed he actually took my words seriously and went to call her. I'd heard all about it at lunch. He explained how he told Betty he needed to stay at South Side High, adding in an extra bit about needing to try harder at apologizing to me. I nodded slowly, stirring my pitiful salad across the table from him. "I honestly thought she understood why it was a bad idea," he continued, sounding stressed. "But now I get why you hold grudges first and ask questions later."

My eyebrows knitted, trying to discern weather it was a compliment or an insult. I smiled a little, "Um...thank you?"

"Babe, why aren't you sitting at our table?"

Sweet Pea stopped by me and Jughead, tray in hand, on his way to the Serpent side of the cafeteria. He sounded genuinely curious and confused by my placement, eyebrows drawn together. I looked up at him from the crouton on my plastic fork. "Being diverse," I answered, light-heartedly sarcastic. "Haven't seen this side of the cafeteria yet."

His eyes scanned the space of cafeteria ahead, to the left, and then to the right as he slid his tray onto the table next to mine. "Remember what I said about Serpents being alone in this hell hole?" he asked, rhetorically, as he sat beside me on the bench.

I nodded once. "Yes. Which is why I'm not letting my brother sit alone."

"You're real stubborn, you know that?"

There was a hint of sarcasm to his tone but, for the most part, he'd sounded completely serious. Jughead only seemed further intrigued by Sweet Pea's previous words, sitting forward with folded arms atop the edge of the table in front of him. "What's wrong with Serpents sitting alone?" he asked, curiously.

"See those morons back there?" Sweet Pea tipped his head to the right in a gesture, motioning to the group of Ghoulies sitting at the tables just outside the Serpents' designated area. Jughead's eyes flitted in that direction just as Sweet Pea continued explaining. "They're like wolves. They wait to make a move until you're alone. _Don't_ let them get you alone. Understand?"

Jughead visibly swallowed, just as taken aback by the seriousness in Sweet Pea's eyes as I was, and nodded. He returned to the burger on his tray with the ghost of a creeped out look on his face. It was no joke, going to this school. Especially as a Serpent. It seemed there was no such thing as just being a student anymore. But there was no further commentary on the subject. For the next few minutes, we sat in a comfortable silence.

Sweet Pea's fingers were loosely laced with mine on my leg beneath the table. My head lay on his shoulder, pushing limp lettuce around on the tray in front of me. Days ago, I'd been eating like the food was literally going to be taken from my hands. But that day I'd felt only a bit nauseous when the idea of eating was presented. "I saw dad this morning," Jughead said, causing my eyes to lift from my salad to his face across the table.

He was speaking around a mouthful of food, but I understood him just fine. I sat up a bit, "How is he?"

"Hanging in there. Sheriff Keller is still trying to get him to flip on the Serpents but-" Jughead shook his head, pursing his lips. "-it's not gonna happen anytime soon. He asked about you, how you were doing at school. I didn't really know what to tell him other than 'fine'."

"Well, it looks like you're about to be made a liar," Sweet Pea sighed beside me, eyes narrowed at something over Jughead's shoulder.

Sure enough, as I followed his line of sight, I was filled with dread. Archie, Betty, and Veronica all bulldozed their way into the cafeteria, skidding to a stop almost simultaneously upon seeing Jughead, Sweet Pea, and I at the table closest to the door. They all wore surprised features, like they hadn't expected the sight they currently beheld. I could feel Sweet Pea tense beside me, so I tightened my grip on his hand. A silent _don't even think about it_.

Jughead twisted, pausing in confusion upon seeing our North side friends in the South side cafeteria. "Guys? What are you doing here?" he questioned, one hundred percent serious, with a hint of heavy dread. Betty and Veronica were concerned with Jughead. But Archie's eyes couldn't help sporadically flickering my way. More specifically, at me and Sweet Pea. "We were worried about you," Betty answered, stepping forward.

Rolling my eyes, I got up from the table. "Okay, drama club. Let's take this outside, yeah?" I looked to Jughead, and he nodded, standing as well. Then I looked down at Sweet Pea, who looked up at me in response. "I'll be back before Biology, I promise."

I parted the table officially with a quick peck of my lips on his check. Then I stepped around the table and started slowly past the group. "Follow her," Jughead said, motioning for them to move as though they were wild animals he were trying to shoo. The three North siders eagerly followed me out. But they kept a solid three foot distance behind me the whole way. And I didn't really mind it. The fact that I was wearing my Serpent jacket probably didn't help their mental image of me.

We went out to the parking lot beside the school. Betty and Jughead stepped away from Veronica, Archie, and I to talk privately. Leaving Veronica and Archie to fail to hide their inability to look anywhere else but at my jacket. Or my tattoo. Or the silver snake hanging around my neck. I'd worn it almost everyday since Sweet Pea gave it to me on my birthday. But I guess it held a little more symbolism for them now, knowing who I am.

Veronica, surprisingly, was the first to speak. "So…how long have you been a Serpent?"

It was casual sounding, like we were stuck in an elevator together and we needed to talk to clear the awkwardness of the silence. I'd zipped up my jacket and slid my hands in my pockets before answering. "Three years," I said, replying with the same amount of casual intonation. She nodded slowly, eyes searching the snow on the ground in front of her.

"I get why you didn't tell anyone, you know," she turned toward me a little. "I don't blame you for keeping it a secret. Maybe—if you want—we can still be friends after all of this?"

It was my turn to nod, the faintest hints of a smile on my lips. "Yeah. I'd like that."

She smiled back at me, seemingly relieved by my answer. My gaze moved up a few inches to Archie. He'd been quiet the whole time, keeping to himself, looking anywhere but in my direction. Before, he couldn't take his eyes off me. Now, it was like I had the plague. Sighing, I turned a little to see Jughead and Betty, where they stood halfway across the parking lot. It looked like the conversation was going well.

Though, I could only bring myself to look at Betty for a few seconds before having to look somewhere else to avoid stress. A sudden buzz in my pocket caught my attention. My hand dug into the back pocket of my shorts, pulling out my cell phone, and I unlocked the screen. It was a text message from Cheryl.

 _AT 12:23PM_  
 **CHERYL: You've been like a sister to me and shown me unwavering support through Jason's death, and I can't tell you how thankful I am for that. But I've been a terrible friend to you. I'm sorry, Diana. Please forgive me, if you can. Thank you for coming to Pop's to meet me. But I'm going to be with Jason now.**

My eyes narrowed as I reread the message. "What the…?" I whispered, under my breath, as a confusion flooded me. The last part of the sentence is what made me realize what the whole thing meant. And, as it finally sunk in, a lump formed in my throat. Swallowing it down as best as I could, I immediately turned to Veronica and Archie. "Guys, we need to get to Sweetwater— _now_."

"What? Why?" Veronica asked, confused.

"Cheryl's going to try to kill herself. She just texted me. We have to stop her!"

Archie quickly flagged down Jughead and Betty, breaking up their cozy looking hug, and we all practically sprinted up the snow covered sidewalk. Away from the school, up Third Avenue, and toward the River. More specifically, the place Cheryl last saw Jason. There was no way she was going to kill herself and not do it at that spot. I'd sent a quick text to Sweet Pea before we left the school parking lot, haphazard and misspelled—but I had to tell him I was going to be breaking my promise.

I ran faster than the others, given the fact I ran on a daily basis and had the stamina for it, and I tore through snow beneath the pine trees along the river to an all too familiar place. The others shouted for Cheryl, but I didn't bother. It took longer than I'd wanted to get there. My body needed to move faster. There was no way on this Earth I was going to let Cheryl Blossom kill herself. Not after trying it myself. It wasn't worth it, but she didn't know that yet.

I skipped to a stop at the place I knew to be where they 'sank' the boat, my chest heaving fog into the cold air as my eyes scanned the white landscape. Archie was the first to catch up at my side, followed by Betty, Jughead, and then Veronica. Finally, my eyes spotted her. "There!" I pointed, right to a moving speck of red in the center of the river. I stepped forward, raising my voice. "Cheryl! CHERYL!" I tried cupping my hands to make the sound louder.

All of us were screaming, rushing forward then. But as we neared the edge, Archie held us all back with quick reflexes and out-stretched arms. "Stop! The ice is too thin. Too much weight will break it," he said, in warning. The others seemed to understand. But I was too stubborn. I was too determined. I broke free from the arm Archie held out across my middle to stop me and lurched into a sprint across the ice. I'd immediately heard the others yelling after me.

But I didn't stop. Not until I was close enough to Cheryl to see what she was doing, as I skidded to a stop. "Cheryl? Cheryl, please, don't do this," I quickly shook my head, somehow sounding less panicked than I'd felt in that moment. Cheryl stood from where she knelt, pounding the ice with a big rock, and she turned to face me with wet cheeks. I took steps toward her. "You don't have to do this, okay? You don't have to-"

"It's too late, Diana," Cheryl shook her head sadly.

"No, Cheryl, it's not," I shook my head again. " _Please_ -"

With a loud crack, I'd felt a weightless second of air before freezing cold encased my body and the darkness beneath my feet had swallowed me whole. I'd sucked in a breath right before my head went below the surface, but at least fifty percent of what I'd sucked in was water. There was no chance to swim up—only forward, with the fast moving current. It wasn't a peaceful motion. It was a violent pulling, a tugging, a spinning. There was no sense of direction in the darkness.

I couldn't see very well. But I could make out Cheryl's form in the water feet ahead of me. She didn't fight it. Didn't try to swim back to the hole she'd made. She let the current take her with eyes closed, bubbles of what oxygen she had left in her lungs freely coming from her mouth. It was so cold. It felt like I was being cut with a thousand knife blades. I almost couldn't move. Yet I tried—I tried so hard to kick up, to beat on the underside of the ice. To grip onto something— _anything_. But it wasn't enough. My chest was burning, head pounding, and I started to choke on the water in my throat.

* * *

It all happened so fast. No one really thought about it—they just moved. In a cluster, the four teens on the riverbank jolted into full speed onto the ice. All cares about weight limits were lost. The only thing that mattered in that instant was the sudden loss of their friends. Archie was far ahead of the others, in an all out sprint, running faster than he ever thought possible. When he reached the spot the girls had disappeared, he skidded into the snow on his knees.

Snow fanned out from his frame as he began pushing it from the ice in frantic, wide swipes. Jughead was next to arrive, followed shortly by Betty and Veronica. "We have to find the lull in the current," Jughead said, jogging ahead of Archie's position to search, pushing snow from his view with his feet. Archie treaded behind on his knees, still desperately trying to see in all of the snow. Then, through the thick ice, he could see it— _red_.

More specifically, Cheryl's cherry red hair. "Here— _here_!" he shouted, moving the rest of the snow from his way as the others gathered around him. Archie didn't hesitate before acting. Adrenaline fueled his movements, his fists hitting the solid ice in an attempt to break through. It was like hitting a sheet of metal. There wasn't much he could do with his bare hands. Jughead looked up and around at the scenery. There had to be someone they could flag down for help.

Betty and Veronica started shouting, calling for anyone that happened to be passing by. It all seemed pointless—hitting the ice, calling for help, even trying at all. But then a voice called back to them. Seconds before a figure came into focus at the river's edge. It was easy to spot him, considering he was the only speck of black in a sea of white snow. Jughead was surprised by the sight of a Serpent, but he instantly began flagging him down.

"Hey! Sweet Pea! Over here!" he waved his arms, getting Sweet Pea's attention. "Hurry, come on—it's Diana!"

It didn't take anything other than the mention of her name to bring the tall Serpent into a fast pace across the ice. Jughead turned to Archie then. Archie was still beating the ice, too desperate to stop now. Even through the burning in his skin from the cold, or the pain from the hard contact. Nothing was enough to let reason into his mind. Betty and Veronica stood back as Sweet Pea arrived. Jughead motioned toward Archie. "Diana and Cheryl fell through—we need to break the ice," he'd explained, in a fast voice full of anxiety.

"How did you know we were here?" Veronica asked.

"I texted him on the way here. I figured we might need some back up if things went south," Jughead replied to the question as Sweet Pea got to his knees in front of Archie. To keep his composure, the Serpent took in a deep breath, and kept his eyes on the ice. Archie looked up between hits to the ice, noticing the sudden change in company. But he didn't say anything. Neither did Sweet Pea. There was no need to. Cheryl wasn't very close with the teens present at her rescue. But Diana was.

Neither Archie nor Sweet Pea wished to know what a life without her looked like. It was a mutual understanding of the moment that allowed them to work together, hitting the ice in the space Archie had been working on. The ice was thicker than anticipated, but Archie used all the force he could muster. On his second swing, blood smeared onto the ice. But it cracked. There was no telling whose hands it was coming from. The crack deepened, splintering further, the added effort from a second set of hands forcing the ice to cave in.

Finally, with another hit from both of them and another splash of blood onto the ice, it broke through with a loud crack.


	28. 28: Hero

_Water washed up through the hole onto the ice they stood on._

No one cared much about getting wet. Their veins were running too hot, too fast, full of adrenaline. Despite the numbing feeling in his hands, Archie reached in first, without hesitation. His hands gripped onto body and he pulled. Sweet Pea reached out, grabbing onto Cheryl to help Archie pull her above ice. They got her up onto the ice and Betty and Veronica hurried over to tend to her. Not a second passed before Sweet Pea was back at the hole.

She had to be there. Diana had to be there somewhere. But it was impossible to see through the film of the near black water. It seemed there was only one course of action to take and, without hesitation, he took it. He sat back to shrug off his jacket, and Jughead was immediately alarmed by this action. "Whoa, wait— _what_ are you doing?" Jughead questioned, somewhat panicked.

"Someone has to go down to get her," Sweet Pea answered, before using the side of his fist to break more of the ice around the hole. "I'm not leaving her down there, Jones."

It was the world's worst idea. But Jughead, too, had no other options. So when Sweet Pea looked up at him one last time, Jughead gave a single nod of approval. Then Sweet Pea slipped beneath the crackling ice, into the freezing water below. "What is he doing?!" Betty practically shrieked, eyes wide, holding a breathing but unconscious Cheryl Blossom in her lap just feet away.

"Archie, your hands," Veronica noticed the red color of the hands Archie still used, unwavering in his effort to keep helping despite the pain. Jughead looked down at her words. He, too, saw the raw and red look of his best friend's hands and knew nothing good could come of it. But it was too late to change it at that point.

To pacify the worry threatening to swallow him alive, Jughead moved to the widened hole in the ice and knelt—watching, waiting. Not a second passed and there was movement. It was a quick motion beneath the water like the dash of a shadow. Moments passed and Sweet Pea's head broke the surface, sucking in an ice cold breath with an unconscious Diana slumped against his right shoulder. "I found her!" Sweet Pea had said, immediately after surfacing.

"Thank goodness," Jughead sighed with relief, but still he trembled with worry. He reached out and grabbed Diana's shoulders, and began to pull. "Hey, Arch—little help?"

With the mention of his name, Archie twisted, noticing the scene behind him. He was moving almost instantly upon seeing Diana's soaked form, quick to grab onto her as well. Together, Jughead and Archie pulled her from the water, up onto the ice. They laid her down on the snow and Archie put his ear close to her chest to listen for a heartbeat, just in case. There was nothing. Jughead helped Sweet Pea out of the water.

Soaking wet and shivering from his polar plunge, Sweet Pea crawled the three feet across the snow and ice to get to Diana's side. "She's not breathing," Archie quickly shook his head. It was to be expected, the lack of movement from the girl. After all, she'd just spent almost three minutes under. Her skin was as cold as the ice that froze her. There were two reactions to this scenario.

Reaction one was to shut down. To panic. To be utterly unable to function with the reality of the situation finally setting in. Reaction two was to act. Finally, Archie was falling into reaction one. His mind had run on pure adrenaline up until this point. But now he felt weak. The pain finally throbbing into his hands. Sweet Pea, on the other hand, was nowhere near reaction one. He was stuck in reaction two.

His hands stacked on the center of her chest, he started compressions. Pressing his hands downward in that singular position in rhythmic thrusts. Not many people would assume someone like Sweet Pea knew CPR. But he didn't need to pay attention in health class to know what to do when someone stopped breathing. It was all over Diana's favorite show— _Grey's Anatomy_. She'd watched it a number of times at his trailer.

He didn't remember watching enough to know this—usually he slept through whatever she decided to watch—but, in that dire moment, it was instinctual. All eyes looked on in a premature state of grief with Diana's lack of response. Even with plugging her nose, blowing air into her lungs, and continuing to pump her chest cavity. There was nothing. But Sweet Pea wasn't about to stop. It was the unthinkable. After being forced apart, attempted suicide—to lose her now, he would never recover.

Tears streamed Veronica's cheeks as she finally turned away, unable to keep watching. And then it happened. In a sudden convulsion, water surged up through Diana's throat and out in a coughing fit of sputters. A wave of relief washed over all. But there was still plenty to keep them worried. Sweet Pea turned Diana onto her side as she coughed up all the water she'd swallowed, her palms bracing the ice. The ragged breaths filling her chest cavity felt like knives against the soft tissue of her lungs.

"My jacket," Sweet Pea said, pointing to the space of snow just past Jughead. Jughead reacted almost instantly, bending to grab the jacket, then tossing it to Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea wrapped his jacket around her frame and scooped her up easily, hefting her into his arms as he stood. Her half conscious mind could not yet comprehend everything. But she knew how cold she'd felt. Her shivering fingers gripped the soaked fabric of his shirt, desperate still to anchor herself to something.

Even on land, it'd felt like she was still moving. Like she was still being carried away. The cold was starting to become painful, but Sweet Pea only clenched his jaw to ride it out. There was still too much to do. "We need to get them somewhere dry," Jughead stated, as Archie moved to pick up Cheryl's still unconscious body.

"My apartment's closest," Veronica piped up, trying to pull herself together enough to function properly. "We can take them there."

* * *

I was positioned in front of the large fireplace in Veronica's apartment. Sat between Sweet Pea's outstretched legs, my back flush with his chest, and his arms draped around me like the soft blanket that hung from my shoulders. His embrace was an added warmth that caused me to sigh in contentment, my head dropping back onto his shoulder. As far as I knew, Cheryl was still sleeping on the couch a few feet behind us. But at least she was alive.

Did I regret going out onto the ice to stop her? No. Not really. How could I? Cheryl, though sometimes doesn't act like it, was actually a good person. And she was my close friend. I wasn't going to let her make the same mistake I did and, in my stubbornness, I saved her with my own mishap. But it wasn't really me. It was Archie, Jughead, Veronica, Betty, and Sweet Pea. It was the real heroes of Riverdale. I was just yet another victim in someone else's wasted privilege.

My eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of soft lips against the skin of my neck—Sweet Pea placing warm kisses in the space I'd so bravely left unprotected. Each sense had slowly been coming back to life as the minutes had passed. Even alive, they were numb. But as I heated, they regained feeling, and I felt a little more like myself. "Feeling better?" Sweet Pea's hushed voice was muffled against my neck.

"Much. The vicodin Veronica gave me is really starting to settle in."

I felt him exhale with nearly my entire body. But it wasn't the good kind. It was the regretful kind. When we'd first arrived at Veronica's apartment, Sweet Pea sat me down on the couch, and I almost cried. The sharp pain in my sides was the only thing I could feel with the rest of my body being so numb. Jughead immediately went into accusatory mode, saying that Sweet Pea broke me on the way here.

Archie told Jughead that was ridiculous. Betty told Archie and Jughead there was no need to argue over it. Sweet Pea threatened to deck both Archie _and_ Jughead. All the while I was holding my sides and groaning, with Veronica rubbing my back soothingly and googling my symptoms on her iPhone. It turned out the pain was normal for someone that had been given CPR. Most likely, I at least had some bruised ribs. It was a genuine medical explanation.

But Jughead was still uneasy. I could tell it was all in his head—just overflow from the anxiety of the situation we'd all just been in. I'd had it the least. The worst of it was happening to those _above_ the ice. Jughead would still be here—but I'd convinced him he would be better suited going to tell dad what happened before heading to the Jubilee for Betty's speech. "I'm really sorry, baby," Sweet Pea breathed, his chin on my shoulder now.

"There's no way it could have been avoided," I tried to assure him, speaking softly as I sat up a bit against his chest. "It wasn't your fault, Pea."

With the sudden sound of clicking heels, my head turned toward it, just as Veronica was stepping into the living area from the left. "Hey...um, I just wanted to see if you guys needed anything?" Veronica asked, stopping her stride just before the area rug. She'd been in mother-mode since we got here. But I couldn't really complain. "More blankets, something to eat—hot chocolate?"

"Thanks, V, but I think we're okay," I smiled a little up at her.

She nodded once and stepped over to the couch, out of my line of sight. Most likely to check on Cheryl. After a moment, Veronica started for the door again. But she stopped short, phone in hand, eyes glued to the screen. It caused for pause. And then she groaned, followed by a muffled swear word. My eyebrows rose on my forehead as I turned my head to see her. "Wow, Ronnie. I'm impressed," I commented, sarcasm coming back to me in full swing.

Veronica sighed, lowering her phone as she stepped to the edge of the rug. "My mom's coming home. She'll be here in fifteen minutes."

"It's okay. I should be getting back to the trailer anyway," I assured her.

I peeled myself from Sweet Pea to sit up straight, almost immediately feeling a dull ache in my sides. With all that transpired between FP and Hermione Lodge, it would not be a good idea to still be here when she got home—especially not with Sweet Pea here, too. It would only make matters worse. So I pushed myself forward onto my knees, the blanket falling to the rug off my shoulders, and I started to get up to stand.

My lower lip was sucked in between my teeth to keep myself from making a pain induced sound as I moved. "Babe, hold on," Sweet Pea quickly climbed to his feet, and he held onto my waist as I finished standing to keep me upright. "You've gotta be careful. Don't move too fast."

"Sweets, I'm not gonna break," I gave him a look, but a smile pulled up the right side of my mouth.

"Right, because you already did that," Veronica quipped, grinning.

Sighing heavily, I shook my head slowly. "Young whipper-snappers. Think they know everything."

To walk comfortably, I hunched slightly, and it only added to the effect of my purposely withered tone. I'd made it out of the apartment just fine. Veronica had told me she would take care of Cheryl and make sure she got home, and I thanked her—giving her a hug before leaving. Being friends Veronica was proving to be better than being enemies. Of course, Veronica never hated me. That hatred was one sided. But it was better now that it was over.

* * *

Jughead had asked for the trailer the night of the Jubilee. It wasn't hard to clear out for the night, considering Sweet Pea was more than happy to have me and Cash over at _his_ trailer. So I hadn't asked questions. I mean, it was easy enough to assume what exactly Jughead wanted the trailer for.

High on another set of pain pills, I got Cash situated on the couch with her blanket and pillow. She snuggled in with her stuffed unicorn and Killer hopped up on the couch to lay at her feet in a ball. "Goodnight, Cash," I smiled down at her. "Remember—if you need _anything_ , I'm right in there."

I pointed to the bedroom door for emphasis, to make sure she got it. But she understood most things better than me anyway. "Got it. Goodnight!" she nodded once, smiling back at me. Carefully, as not to tweak my middle, I got to my feet and bent to place a kiss on her small forehead.

"Hey, you all tucked in?"

Sweet Pea stepped up beside me, looking down at Cash with a loose smile. I folded my arms over my chest as I listened to their banter. "Yep!" she beamed, snuggling deeper into the cushion as she squeezed the stuffed unicorn to her chest. "Your couch is better than mine. Mine has a spring loose, but Jughead says it gives the couch character. Whatever that means."

He knelt then to be closer to her level. "That means he's cheap. Does this guy have a name?"

Cash wrinkled her nose as Sweet Pea poked the head of her stuffed unicorn. "It's a _she_! And her name is Butter," she corrected him, keeping her chin held high as she carefully placed the unicorn in the space between her body and the back cushion, tucking it in alongside her.

"Oh, my apologies," Sweet Pea was obviously hiding a snicker.

"Okay, time for bed," I grabbed his upper arm and tugged.

He stood, chuckling, "Goodnight, Cash."

"Goodnight, Sweet Pea!"

Her response was bright, bubbly. The exact opposite of her attitude of offense to his misgendering her unicorn just moments ago. I pulled Sweet Pea along behind me by the wrist, turning off the main light switch near the door on the way into the bedroom. It was Sweet Pea's idea to leave the bedroom door cracked in case Cash needed something. "I feel like I'm the unwanted step-dad trying to win over my new wife's child," he commented, in a hushed tone, as he started for the bed.

Already in my pajamas—my underwear and one of Sweet Pea's Serpent t-shirts—I eased myself into my side of the bed. "Step-dad scenario, maybe. But she really does like you," I assured him, turning onto my right side to face him. "She's very particular about everything, but she's easy, in all reality. All you have to do is do what I do. Maybe you could ask Jughead for some tips?"

Sweet Pea snorted, literally dropping into bed. "Yeah, sure. I'll do that."

He tossed his shirt off the side of the bed before sliding beneath the blanket, sidling up to me on the far left side of the bed. The lamp on the nightstand cast soft shadows across his features. I readjusted my head on the pillow a little. "I almost died today...actually, I _did_ die today—for a little while," it was spoken in a kind of sober reflection, with a hushed voice. But my eyes remained on his. "I didn't think anyone would bring me back to life _once_. But you did it twice."

"Because I love you," he replied, without hesitation. "You're my family, Diana—not just because you're a Serpent."

"You're my family, too."

I reached up to slide my hand onto his cheek, the tips of my fingers gingerly brushing across the skin of his face. "When I found you in your bathroom, I almost lost my mind. It was complete helplessness—there was nothing I could do but watch you die. But at the river, I didn't stop until you woke up. It was like..." he trailed off his sentence, shaking his head at his thoughts.

My eyebrows drew together in curiosity, as I shifted to pull my free arm up and fold it beneath my head. "Like what?"

"Like I already knew you were going to come back to me," he eyes settled on mine with a certain softness, but full of certainty.

The hand that had found a place to rest on his cheek then slid up into his hair as his arm wrapped around my waist. I wouldn't be the first to admit that statement seemed too cliched to be true. But it made my heart flutter to think about. To think about forever. To think about that kind of certainty. Maybe he did know I was going to come back? Maybe he didn't? No one would ever know. Regardless, my hand moved to the back of his neck.

I pulled him toward me as I leaned forward, and his soft lips mingled with mine. His hand had moved to grip my hip, just below the hem of my t-shirt, and his skin felt like fire against mine. Goose bumps rushed up my arms in a rolling wave. Then his hand moved lower, following the line of my body, along the back of my thigh to my knee. Pulling the back of my knee up to hook on his hip as he pushed forward—keeping me against him in a recline into the pillows.

My heart was threatening to beat through my sore rib cage with a racing pulse to match, out of breath even as our tongues twisted. It was deep, passionate, and full of lust. But it was wet and sloppy and quick. His hands were on my body and mine were locked tightly in his black locks, probably a little _too_ tightly. But neither of us had any complaints. "I love you," I managed to breathe out the words in a moment that I could pull away.

His big, brown eyes were about to melt mine with intensity, inches from my face, "I love you, too."

* * *

I slept with my back against Sweet Pea's chest, tucked in a cocoon of safety with his strong arms around me, his chin at the top of my head. It was a peaceful, blissful sleep. The deepest sleep I'd had in many nights. Probably because of the distress falling through the ice put my body in. It was still trying to recover from it all. And, honestly, so was my mind. I'd been dead twice now. It was the scariest thing I'd ever experienced.

Not because I was afraid to die. Because both times, I didn't see a light or feel warmth. It was cold and dark and I was completely alone. It wasn't like sleeping. There was a certain thickness to the dark, a certain emptiness to the space. And it was terrifying. Though, I would never dare speak those words aloud. Feeling Sweet Pea sigh against my back pulled me from my thoughts. But it was followed quickly by a familiar buzz. My cell phone on the nightstand.

Groaning against the tweak in my side, I reached across the space and quickly snatched the buzzing device. "Really? This again?" Sweet Pea grumbled, as I pulled the phone back to the bed with me, back into his arms. "What is it this time? Timmy fell down a well?"

I hushed him, huffing a chuckle, before pressing the green answer button. "Hey, Jug. Didn't think you'd be up—what with your _reservation_ and all," I smirked a little, the action spilling into my voice. But the response I got wasn't at all what I'd expected. It was the exact opposite.

"Diana, you need to get to the hospital. Archie's dad was shot at Pop's this morning," his voice was anxious, speaking quickly.

At the mention of the incident, I'd instinctively sat up, breaking free from Sweet Pea's grasp only with my element of surprise, and slid off the bed. "Well, is he okay? Is he going to make it?"

"I don't know how bad it is, I just got here. But you need to hurry—Archie's a mess. We need you."

"I'll be there in ten."

I hung up the phone and my eyes shot to the floor, looking for where I'd put my jeans. "What's going on?" Sweet Pea asked, squinting hard against the light from the window behind me, being blinded while trying to look at me. He sounded more awake than I'd felt. But I pushed through the grogginess, retrieving my jeans and pulling them on as I spoke.

"My friend's dad was shot at Pop's," I explained—sort of. "I have to get to the hospital. You know, moral support and all. This guy's been more of a father figure for me than Ben."

Sweet Pea rolled over, away from me, and rifled with the wadded up pair of jeans on the floor on his side of the bed. With the opportunity, I quickly swapped shirts, and pulled a hoodie on before my Serpent jacket. A moment later, when Sweet Pea rolled back over to face me, he held a set of keys out to me. "Take my bike," he offered, in all seriousness.

I'd had a second's hesitation. But I walked around the end of the bed, and took the keys from his hand as I did. "What about Cash?"

"I'll watch her until you get back," he answered, as I neared him.

"Thank you," I said, genuinely, before leaning in. I braced against the edge of the bed, kissing his lips. He kissed me back instantly, but I had to pull away quickly. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he smiled softly at me.

It pulled at the corners of my lips. But I needed to go. So I did. I hurried through the trailer—careful not to wake Cash—and slipped out the door. I'd been on a bike many times as of late. Though, every time I'd been on one, It'd been with someone else driving. I didn't have a license, either. _Oh well_. I trotted down the steps and across the grass to Sweet Pea's motorcycle. Swinging my leg over, I straddled the seat, and slid the key into the ignition.

Starting a motorcycle might be hard if you've never seen it done before. But, for me, it was like second nature. It roared to life beneath me in a matter of seconds. And then I was off to the hospital.


	29. 29: Arsonist's Lullaby

My feet carried me into the hospital in a fast pace, through the halls, straight to the waiting area at the back. It wasn't hard to spot them. They were the frazzled teens sitting in the chairs with a small group of parents huddled together. I'd spotted Jughead, Betty, and Veronica when walking in. But no sign of Archie.

As I walked closer, I heard Alice Cooper's voice, from where she stood with Hal and Hermione Lodge by the teens. "...I can't help but wonder if your South side associates had anything to do with what happened to Fred," she said, as Hal comforted her with hands on her shoulders. It was followed by a strings of mingled sighs from the teens sitting.

Only when I spoke did anyone notice me walking up, stopping at the back of Jughead's line of chairs. "Wow, really, Alice?" my voice caused all to glance in my direction. Alice's face dropped upon seeing the leather on my shoulders. My eyebrows narrowed a fraction, looking only at her. "Don't tell me FP is your prime suspect. He's in _jail_."

"Diana," Alice greeted, coldly.

"What? Cat got your tongue? Come on. It's not too early in the morning for you to throw innocent men and women under the bus," I quipped, sliding my hands into my pockets.

Veronica groaned and slid back in her chair, dropping her head onto Betty's shoulder. Jughead twisted in his chair and flashed me a warning look. But the damage had already been done. Alice's eyes were full of contempt and disgust. "Oh, I hardly think the Serpents are innocent-"

"Right now, they are," I interrupted, causing her eyes to narrowed in an expression only meaning one thing— _how dare you_. I lowered my tone, but kept my features neutral. "So _back off._ "

Hal then mumbled something about needing to sit down, and he was able to pull Alice away to go sit in some chairs near the front desks. Veronica's mother, Hermione, was obviously trying not to stare. But her eyes flickered up and down my middle as I stepped past her to take the seat next to Jughead. "Where's Archie?" I asked him, curiously.

"Calling his mom," he answered, exhaling. "He'll probably be back soon. You didn't bring Sweet Pea with you?"

My eyebrows scrunched as I sat back in my chair, crossing my knees as I shook my head. "Why would I?"

"Well, how'd you get here so fast?"

"I took his motorcycle. I told him about Mr. Andrews and he gave me his keys."

I'd answered it casually, simply. Though Veronica and Betty had raised brows. Looking at me with a mixture of shock and admiration. I turned my head, pausing cold in confusion upon seeing Jughead's expression. His eyebrows were furrowed, jaw slacked, like he, too, was caught in surprise. But his was mixed with something else— _worry_. I scoffed. "Don't give me that," I shook my head. "Don't think I didn't see _dad's_ bike in the parking lot."

"That's different, Diana," he gave me a look.

My eyebrows instinctively lowered. "Why? Because I'm a girl?"

"Your _gender_ has nothing to do with it, I assure you," he shook his head a little, giving me a side-eye. "I'm just worried, you know? It seems like every few days you're almost _dying_. A motorcycle accident wouldn't be pretty, I can tell you that. And I don't want to watch it happen."

"Jug, don't worry. It was just this once. Okay?"

Just as I'd said that, Archie came back into the waiting area. His Letterman jacket was covered in Mr. Andrews' blood, his eyes feral like a wild cat's. I immediately pushed up from my chair and hurried toward him. "Diana," Archie greeted, in faint surprise, as he'd just noticed me when I stood. "You're here."

My stride met him half way, and I didn't hesitate to pull him into a tight hug. "Are you okay?" I'd asked, my chin on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, but he trembled in light shakes against me, holding onto me more tightly than I was to him. The answer was evident. No, he was not okay. Not okay at all. He'd pulled away without a word, nodding instead of a verbal answer. But his eyes were downcast. Even still, I could see the panic in them.

There was a certain glossed over look to the eyes of someone in shock. It wasn't hard to see it in Archie's. I grabbed his face with my hands, forcing him to look up, for his eyes to meet mine. "I'm here if you need to talk, okay?" I spoke softly, quietly.

He relaxed a little, nodding. "Thanks, Diana."

I nodded in return as I let him go. It was just then that Sheriff Keller walked into the waiting area. Apparently, his mission was to interview Archie and ask questions about what happened. It didn't really bother me that Archie took Jughead along with him to the cafeteria with Keller for support. All I would do is question Keller's every move. I wouldn't have been much 'support'. Once they'd left for the cafeteria, I took a seat across from Betty and Veronica.

Hermione had gone to sit with Alice up front of the room, by the front desk. So it was just us girls in the center chairs. Betty filled me in on the details I'd missed. That Mr. Andrews was in surgery and probably would be for a long while. During the quiet lull, with people coming and people going, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and texted Sweet Pea an update. I told him all I knew—even though it wasn't much at all.

 **ME: Hey. Still waiting on surgery. Don't know how long it's going to be. Is Cash still sleeping?**

 **SP: She woke up just after you left. I told her where you went, she seems okay.**

 **ME: That's good. What about Killer?**

 **SP: Cash wants to take him for a walk to the park after breakfast.**

A small smile pulled up my lips at the thought. A six foot biker with a four foot tall little girl, walking a German Shepard to Pickens Park. The park was one of Cash's favorite places to go before we had to leave our home on the South side. So it was no surprise that was where she wanted to take Killer.

 **ME: That sounds fun.**

 **SP: Your sister scares me. LOOK AT THIS.**

A picture popped into the message string then, one that was obviously of Cash. She was on the living room floor on her back, mirroring Killer's position beside her. The next picture that appeared in my messages was both girl and dog on their feet now. But Killer's front legs were flat on the floor with his back end high in the air. Cash was doing her best to imitate such a pose.

 **ME: It's adorable!**

 **SP: There's something wrong with this child.**

 **ME: There's nothing wrong, Sweets.**

 **SP: I think she wants to kill me.**

 **ME: Why?**

 **SP: She just invited me to a tea party.**

 **ME: Play with her, maybe she'll be your friend.**

 **SP: Or maybe she'll poison me.**

I huffed a chuckle, refraining from rolling my eyes. Barely, my eyes caught movement across the aisle of chairs. I'd glanced up. The girls were looking at something over my shoulder, so I twisted in my chair to see. Archie and Jughead were coming back from the interrogation—I mean, _interview_.

 **ME: Gotta go. You can do this, Sweets. She's nine.**

After sending a final text, I locked my phone, sliding it in my back pocket as I stood. I walked around the end of the aisle of chairs and across the open room to the boys at the doorway. "Was there something you weren't telling Keller?" Jughead asked Archie, as I arrived, causing my eyebrows to slowly slide upward.

Archie glanced between me and Jughead a second before replying, "My dad told me he and Mrs. Lodge fired the Serpents they had working on their crew. I know your dad vouches for them, but what if one of them got angry enough to do something?"

Jughead's eyes instantly shifted to the left, landing on mine. I slid my hands in my pockets. "Yeah, it's possible," I nodded slowly, thinking. "I mean- I can ask around? See if I find anything incriminating?" Archie seemed to relax at that, nodding quickly.

"Thanks, Diana. For everything," he said, genuinely, a slight quiver to his voice.

I put a hand on his shoulder, "Archie, you helped save my life. And your dad's always been nice to me. I figure it's the _least_ I can do."

His eyes sporadically moved to mine from the floor, like he wanted to say something, but didn't. Or he wanted to do something, but didn't know if it was acceptable. Then, with a sigh, it seemed the hesitation was thrown out the window. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me in a hug. Despite the last couple of months being difficult to look at him, it felt so natural to hug him back. I was by no means feeling anything for Archie Andrews.

But, in that moment, all I'd seen was someone hurting and I wanted to ease that pain. If pulling Tall Boy out of bed was all I had to do in order to do that, then so be it. And that's exactly what I did. Jughead and I headed out to the front parking lot while I texted the bearded Serpent. All the while, Jughead told me a story about how Tall Boy and a few other Serpents showed up at the trailer the night before.

We'd just gotten outside when he said they'd given him a jacket. My footsteps slowed just before the three steps down to the pavement of the parking lot, my eyes darting up from the screen of my cell phone to my brother's face. "Did you keep it?" I asked, a bit hesitant.

The Serpent Jacket was second only to loyalty in the Serpent's order of importance. Jackets and tattoos were really all you needed to call yourself a Serpent. If they'd given him a Jacket, and he kept it, they might get the wrong idea. I knew Jughead. Jughead wasn't a Serpent and, if he wanted it to stay that way, he would need to give it back. "Yeah," he sighed a little, looking guilty. "I didn't really know what else to do."

"You're not going to wear it, though—right?" He looked hesitant to answer, in thought. And my eyes did of mixture of narrowing and widening as I tilted my head. "Jug. You can't keep it. If you want to stay a regular pedestrian, give it back when you have the chance. False loyalty will not end well for you, I promise you that."

He nodded, sighing. "Don't worry, okay? I'll give it back."

That was the last we'd spoken of it. But, looking back on it, I wished I'd done more to convince him. Tall Boy and another Serpent I didn't recognize arrived at the side area of the hospital parking lot not long after. As Jughead and I stepped into the awning-type space, Tall Boy got off his bike. "Got nervous when you said to meet at the hospital," he said, his eyes mostly on me.

"Have no fear—I'm gonna be a pain in your leather-wearing butt for a long time," I exhaled, as Jughead and I came to stand a few feet from Tall Boy. "I need a favor. _We_ need a favor. Our friend's dad—Fred Andrews—was shot this morning during a robbery at Pop's."

"The guy was wearing a black hood," Jughead piped up.

"Serpents don't wear masks," the other nameless Serpent with Tall Boy spoke.

I slid my hands into my jacket pockets, "Wow, I didn't know that. Look. Some Serpents were working for Andrews Construction and they got let go. Maybe someone took it personally? I don't know. But you guys know every edge of Riverdale. If anyone heard anything, or saw anything, you guys could find out. Up for some detective work?"

Tall Boy stood quiet a second, considering it. Then he nodded once as his thoughtful eyes settled on mine again. "We'll knock some heads," he agreed. "I'll let you know what we find."

"I'm going with you," I spoke suddenly, before my mind had caught up to my mouth. But I'd said the words like it was obvious. Jughead, Tall Boy, and the nameless Serpent looked surprised—Jughead especially. His eyes were widened, eyebrows lowered. It was his signature look of worry. "Diana," he gently grabbed my upper arm, lowering his voice. "What are you doing? We need you _here_."

"I can help better elsewhere. Besides...I don't do well with waiting. I'll text you any updates, okay?"

Tall Boy didn't protest my interest in helping 'knock heads'. In fact, he looked a little—dare I say— _impressed_. Even more so when he saw whose bike I was riding. But he didn't care to comment, and the three of us—me, Tall Boy, and Serpent number three—rode to the Wyrm.

* * *

It was never supposed to get that far. Not at all. But I was already there. Standing in the basement of the Wyrm with Tall Boy and the nameless Serpent. After a bit of coaxing, it turned out that he did have a name. _Ezra_ was all he'd said when I'd asked. Now Ezra held out his hand to me, a set of brass knuckles in his palm, with his chest heaving. "Your turn," he said, deciding to take a break.

What was he breaking from? Beating another Serpent senseless. The man was mouthing off about Fred Andrews. Saying things like how great it was he was shot and that he'd deserved it. So Tall Boy, naturally, wanted to interrogate him to try and tell the difference between truth and lip. Tall Boy's eyes shifted to mine from where he watched a few feet to my left. Eagerly awaiting my response, I'm sure. This was not exactly what I'd wanted.

It was actually the opposite. But something in me pushed my hand forward to reach out, to take the instrument of pain, of violence, and slide my fingers through. The Serpent tied to a chair three feet in front of me was a bit bloody but, in all reality, he hadn't been hurt very much. That was going to change. "Hit him," Ezra encouraged, a bit impatiently.

"Gee, I hadn't thought of that," I tossed my eyes.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped toward the man in the chair. I'd never done this before. I'd never thought of doing this before. Yet there I was. Fully prepared and ready to beat answers out of a man to a question I didn't know that he could truly answer. The first hit was sloppy, hesitant. But it still left my knuckles a bit bruised-feeling. Even under the brass knuckles, it hurt. Yet I kept going.

There was no reasonable explanation I could think of in doing this. All I'd told myself was that it had to be done to get the information we'd needed. Looking back on it, that shouldn't have been enough. "Enough," Tall Boy said, after a third hit. I stepped back, heaving just a little, and Tall Boy stepped toward the chair. "Think you can start talking now?"

"I didn't- I didn't shoot Fred Andrews," the Serpent in the chair sputtered, blood coating his lips.

"So you were just mouthing off, huh?" Tall Boy questioned, rhetorically. The bloodied Serpent nodded quickly.

Ezra sighed, unsatisfied, "I don't think he understands what he's done. Tall Boy?"

Tall Boy stepped back with a heavy exhale, crossing his arms over his broad chest in the way he'd been before. He looked to me. "Keep going."

"He just said he didn't do it," I pointed out, eyebrows knitting. "He's bleeding— _everywhere_. Isn't that enough?"

"He needs to be taught a lesson, Diana. And you don't stop when you get a confession. You have to know he's telling the truth and not just feeding you lies to get you to let him go," Tall Boy explained, tiredly. Like he'd done it a million times already. And maybe he had? My eyes moved to the man in the chair.

That was when I should have walked away. I should've said no and stood in defiance. But I didn't. Against my better judgment, I hit him again. I'd wanted to be a Serpent. That was the point of going through the misogynistic initiation and getting the tattoo, wearing the jacket. Living on the South side and going to South Side High was my chance to be more of a Serpent that I had been since joining. This was my chance to be what I looked up to.

I was getting a good, hard look at what I used to idolize. It wasn't pretty. It was bloody, bruised, swollen, and trembling. It was crimson dripping from brass knuckles. The dim lighting of the basement making it all the more like some crime drama where the protagonist is being beaten up by the mob. Except the protagonist wasn't getting beat up. The protagonist was doing the beating. But who was I to say no in a situation like this?

There was no doubt in my mind that, if I'd said no and stood my ground, I'd be the one getting taught a lesson next. After a little more, Tall Boy finally spoke up, saying it was enough. Immediately I stood back and pulled the brass knuckles from my fingers. "You want to be a Serpent, right?" Ezra asked, rhetorically, with such a casual tone it was almost terrifying. "This is what it's about."

I had a sick feeling in my stomach that he was right.

 **END  
** **BOOK ONE**

* * *

 **BOOK TWO COMING JANUARY 1ST 2018**


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